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-Vo. 25 Cfs. 



Copyright, 1885, 
by Harper & Brothers 


May 15, 1885 


Subscription Price 
per Year, 60 Numbers, $15 


Entered at the Post^Ofl^ce at New York, as SecoDd-class Mail Matter 


OR, ROOTLES’ BA.BY 


^ODclcttC 




By J. S. winter 

AUTHOR OF “cavalry LIFE ” AND “ REGIMEN^TAL LEGENDS” > 




ILLUSTRATED^ J 


, \ 


1 I 




Books you may hold readily in your hand are the most usefid, after all 

Dr. Johnson 


NEW YORK 

HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS 

1885 


“ Books you may Kolil readily in your liand are lie most usetnl, after all.” 

Dr. Johnson. 


HARPER’S HANDY SERIES. 

NOTICE. 

Messrs. IIaeper & Bkotiiers beg leave to announce 
that witli the story entitled “ That Terrible Man,” by 
Mr. AV. E. NoRkis, author of “Matrimony,” “Heaps of 
Money,” and other favorite novels, they have begun the 
issue of a new series of publications, to be called 
Harper’s ITanda^ Series, which is intended to sui^ply 
the best current literature in a form that shall combine 
the cheapness of the popular library with neatness and 
portability. 

The Series will be issued weekly, and will include in- 
structive and entertaining books in biography, history, 
travel, fiction, and general literature. 

The selection of volumes for Harper’s Handa' Se- 
ries will be made with great care, and with scrupulous 
regard not only to literary excellence but also to purity 
of moral tone. The publishers will studiously endeavor 
to exclude from it all works unsuitable for family 
reading. 

The volumes in Harper’s Haxda' Series will be 
compact in form and attractive in appearance. They 
will be of duodecimo shape, adapted to the satchel or 
pocket, bound in tasteful paper covers, and sold at about 
twenty-five cents each. 


Lists of Harper’s Handy Series and Harper’s Franklin 
Square Lihrary, each series published weekly, will be furnished, 
on application to the publishers. 

Address ; 

HAEPEB & BROTHERS, Franklin Square, Hew York City.' 



. * 


* 


\ 




MIG NON. 


ClIAFTER I. 

It was considerably after midnight when one of 
three ofiicors seated at a whist-table in the mess- 
room of the Cavalry Jjarracks at Idleminster, where 
the Scarlet Lancers were quartered, called out, 
“ Booties, come and take a hand — there’s a good 
chap.” 

Captain Algernon Ferrers, more commonly known 
as “ Booties,” looked up. 

“ 1 don’t mind if I do,” he said, rising and mov- 
ing towards them. “What do you want me to 
do ? Who’s my partner ?” 

The three other men stared at one another in 
sui-prise, for Booties was one of the best whist- 
players in the regiment, and in an ordinary way 
would as soon have thought of counting honors 
as of settling the questions of partners other than 
by cutting, except in the case of a revenge. 

1 


4 


MIGNON. 


“Why, take a card, of course, my friend,” 
laughed Lacy, in a ridiculously soft voice. Lacy 
was a recent importation from the Wliite Dra- 
goons, and had taken possession of the place left 
vacant in Booties’s every-day life by Scott Laurie’s 
marriage. 

“Ah, yes; to be sure — cut, of course. I be- 
lieve,” said Booties, looking at the three faces be- 
fore him in an uncertain way — “ I believe I’ve got 
a headache.” 

“ Oh, nothing like whist for a headache,” an- 
swered Hartog, turning up the last card. “Ace 
of diamonds.” However, after stumbling through 
one game — after twice trumping his partner’s trick, 
a revoke, and several such like blunders — he rose 
to his feet. 

“It’s no use, you fellows; I’m no good to-night 
— I can’t even see the cards. Get some one to 
take my place and make a fresh start.” 

“ Why, you’re ill, Booties,” cried Preston. “ AVhat 
is it 

“ It’s a devil of a headache,” answered Booties, 
promptly. “Here’s Miles — the very man. Good- 
night.” 

“ Good-night,” called the fellows after him. Then 
they settled down to their game, and Preston dealt. 


MIGNON. 


5 


“ Never saw Booties seedy before,” said Lacy. 

“ Oh yes ; he gets these headaches sometimes,” 
answered Ilartog. “ Not often, though. Miles, 
your lead.” 

Meantime Booties went wearily away, almost 
feeling his road under the veranda of the mess- 
rooms, along the broad ])ave in front of the offi- 
cers’ quarters, and up the wide flight of stone steps 
to his rooms facing the green of the barrack square. 
Being the senior captain, with only one bachelor 
field-officer in the regiment, he had two large and 
pleasant rooms, not very grandly furnished, for, 
though a rich man, he was not an extravagant 
one, and saw no fun in having costly goods and 
chattels to bo at the tender mercies of soldier ser- 
vants ; but they were neat, clean, and comfortable, 
with a sufficiency of great easy travelling-chairs, 
plenty of fur rugs, and lots of pretty little pict- 
ures and knickknacks. 

The fire in his sitting-room was fast dying out, 
but a bright and cheerful blaze illumined his sleep- 
ing-room, shining on the brass knobs of his cot, on 
the silver ornamentations at the corners of his 
dressing-case, on three or four scent bottles on the 
tall cretonne-petticoated toilette table, and on the 
tired but resplendent figure of Booties himself. 


6 


MIGNON. 


Ue dragged the big chair pretty near to the 
fire, and dropped into it with a sigh of relief, ab- 
solutely too sick and weary to think about getting 
into bed just then. As Ilartog had said, some- 
times these headaches seized him, but it did not 
happen often ; in fact, he had not had one for 
more than a year — quite often enough, he said. 

■Well, he had been lying in the big and easy 
chair, his ej’es shut and his hands hanging idly 
over the broad straps which served for arms, for 
perhaps half an hour, when to his surprise he heard 
a soft rustling movement behind him. *IIis first 
and not 'unnatural thought was that the fellows 
had come to draw him, so, without moving, he 
called out, “ Oh ! confound it all, don’t come bor- 
ing a poor devil with a headache. By Jove, it’s 
cruelty to animals, neither more nor less.” 

The soft rustling ceased, and Booties closed his 
eyes again, with a devout prayer that they would, 
in response to this appeal, take themselves ofP. But 
presently it began again, accompanied by a sound 
which made his heart jump almost into his mouth, 
and beat so furiously as to be simply suffocating. 
It stopped — was repeated — ^^The — DEVIL,” mut- 
tered Booties. 

But it was not the devil at all — more like a lit- 


MIGNON. 


7 


tie angel, in truth ; for after a moment’s irresolu- 
tion he sprang from his chair and faced the horror 
behind him. It really was a horror to him, for 
there, sitting np among the pillows of the cot, with 
the clothes pushed back, was a babj^, a baby whose 
short golden curls shone in the fire-light — a little 
child dressed in white, with a pair of wide-open, 
wondering eyes, as briglit as stars and as blue as 
sapphires. 

Booties stood in dismay staring at it. 

“Where, in the name of all that’s wonderful, 
did you come from?” he asked aloud, keeping at 
a safe distance lest it should suddenly start howl- 
ing. 

But the little stranger did not howl; on the 
contrary, as its bewildered eyes fell upon Booties’s 
resplendent figure, his gold-laced scarlet jacket and 
gold -embroidered waistcoat of white velvet, his 
gold-laced overalls and jingling spurs, it stretched 
out its little arms and cried, “ Boo, boo, boo — !” 

Booties took a step back in his surprise, and his 
headache vanished as if by magic. 

“ By — Jove !” he exclaimed. 

“Boo — boo — boo!” crowed the usurper of the 
cot, cheerily. 

Booties went a step nearer. “ Why, j’on’re a 


8 


MIGNON. 


queer littje beggar,” he remarked. “ Where did 
you come from, eh ?” 

The “queer little beggar” suddenly changed its 
tone, and started another system of crowing more 
triumphant and cheery than the first. 

“ Cliucka — chucka — chucka — chuck !” it went. 

Booties began to laugh. “ Can’t talk, hey ? Well, 
what do you want ?” as it struggled fiercely to rise, 
and stretched out its small arms more impatiently 
than before. “Want to be lifted up, hey? Oh, 
but dash it,” scratching his head perplexedly, “/ 
can’t lift you up, yeu know ; it’s out of the ques- , 
tion — impossible. By Jove, I might let you drop 
and smash you !” 

“ Chucka — chucka — chucka ! Boo — oo — oo !” 
gobbled the baby, as if it were the best joke in the 
world. ' 

Booties positively roared. 

“You don’t mind? Well, come along, then,” 
approaching very gingerly, and wondering where 
he should begin to get hold of it, so to speak. 

The baby soon settled that question, holding out 
its arms towards his neck. Then somehow he 
gathered it up and carried it in doubt and trepi- 
dation to the big chair by the fire, where the creat- 
ure sat contentedly upon his knee, the curly golden 


MIGNON. 


9 


head resting against his scarlet jacket, ^e soft fin- 
gers of one baby hand tight twined round one of 
his, the other picking and wandering aimlessly 
about the scrolls and curves of the gold embroid- 
ery on his waistcoat. 

“ By Jove ! you’re a jolly little chap,” said Boot- 
ies, just as if it could understand him. “But the 
question is, whore did you come from, and what’s 
to be done with you? You can’t stop here, you 
know.” 

The babe’s big blue eyes raised themselves to 
his, and the fingers wliich had been twined round 
his made a grab at his watch-chain. 

“Gar — gar — garr — rah!” it remarked, in such 
evident delight that Booties laughed again. 

“ Oh, you like it, do you ? Well, you’re a queer 
little beggar; no mistake about that. I wonder 
whom you belong to, and where you live when 
you are at home ? Can’t be a barrack child — too 
dainty - looking and not slobbery enough. And 
this dress ” — taking hold of the richly embroidered 
white skirt — “ this must have cost a lot ; and it’s 
all lace too.” 

He knew wdiat embroidery cost by his own mess 
waistcoats and his tunics. Then not only was the 
dress of the child of a very costly description, but 


10 


MIGNON. 


its sleeves were tied up with Cambridge blue rib- 
bons that were evidently new, and its waist was 
encircled by a broad sash of the same material 
and tint. Altogether it was just sucli a child as 
he was occasionally called upon to admire in the 
houses of his married brother officers; yet that 
any lady in the regiment would lend her baby for 
a whole night to a set of harum-scarum young fel- 
lows for the purpose of playing a trick on a brother 
officer was manifestly absurd. And besides that, 
Booties was so good-natured and such a favorite 
with the ladies of the regiment that he thought 
he knew all their babies by sight, and he became 
afraid that this one was indeed a little stranger in 
the land, welcome or unwelcome. 

Yet if it was the fellows’ doing, where had they 
got it ? And if it was not the fellows’ doing, why 
should any one leave a baby asleep in his cot? 
The whole thing was inexplicable. 

Just then the child, in playing with his chain, 
slipped a little on the smooth cloth of his overalls, 
and Booties, with a “ Whoa ! whoa, my lad !” haul- 
ed it up again. In doing so he felt a piece of 
paper rustle somewhere about the embroidered 
skirt. 

“A note. This grows melodramatic,” said Boot- 


MIGNON. 


11 


les, craning his head to find it. “ Oh, here we 
are ! Now we shall see.” 

The note was written in a firm, large, yet thor- 
oughly feminine hand, and ran thus : 

“ You will not absolve me from my oath of 
secrecy respecting onr marriage, though now that 
I have offended yon, I may starve or go to the 
work-house. I cannot break my oath, though you 
have broken all yours, but I am determined that 
5’ou shall acknowledge your child. I am going to 
leave her to-night in your rooms with her clothes. 
By midnight I shall be out of the country. I do 
this because I have obtained a good situation, and 
because when I reach my destination I shall have 
spent my last shilling. I give you fair warning, 
however, that if you desert the child, or fail to 
acknowledge her, I will break my oath and pro- 
claim our marriage. If you engage a nurse she 
will not be much trouble. She is a good and 
sweet-tempered child, and I have called her Mary, 
after your dear mother. Oh, how she would pity 
me if she could see me now ! Farewell.” 

From that moment Booties absolved “the fel- 
lows” from any share in the affair; but what to 
do with the child he had not the least idea. 


12 


MIGNON. 


“ It is the veiy devil,” he said aloud, watching 
the busy fingers still playing with his chain. 

lie gathered it awkwardly in his arms, and rose 
to look for the clothing spoken of in the letter. 
Yes, there it was, a parcel of goodly size, wrapped 
in a stout brown paper cover, and on the chair be- 
side his cot lay the out-door garments of a young 
child — a white coat bordered with fur, a fur- 
trimmed cap, and some other things, which Boot- 
ies did not quite understand the use of ; white wool 
fingerless gloves (at least he did not know what 
else they could be), and some longer things of the 
same class, like stockings without feet. 

Booties shook his head bewilderingly. “Moth- 
er means it to stop; I don’t know what to do,” he 
said, helplessly. 

It occurred to him then that perhaps some of the 
fellows might be able to make a suggestion. He 
did not know what to do with the child for the 
night, nor, for the matter of that, what to do with 
it for the moment. lie had the sense not to take 
it out into the chill midnight air, and when he at- 
tempted to put it back into the cot it rebelled, 
clinging to his watch-chain with might and main. 

“ Well, have it then,” he said, slipping it off. 

The baby, pleased with the glittering toy, set up 


MIGNON. 


13 


a cry of delight, and Booties took the opportunity 
of slipping out. He entered the anteroom with a 
very rueful face, finding it pretty much as he had 
left it. Lacy was the first to catch sight of him. 

“ Halloo, Booties, what’s the mat-tah ?” he asked. 
“ Is your head worse 

“ My head ? Oh, I forgot all about it,” Booties 
replied. “ But, I say. I’m in a mess. There’s a 
baby in my room.” 

“A’ WHAT?” they cried, with one voice. 

“ A baby,” repeated Booties, dismally. 

“ A1 — ive ?” asked Lac}’-, with his head on one 
side. 

“ Alive ! Oil, very, very much so, and means to 
stop, for it has brought its entire wardrobe and a 
letter of introduction with it,” liolding tlie letter 
for any one to take who chose. It was Lacy who 
did so, and lie asked if he should read it up. 

“Yes, do,” said Booties, dropping into a chair 
with a groan. “ Perhaps some one else will own 
to it.” 

So Lacy read the letter in his ridiculous drawl 
of a voice, and ceased amid profound silence — 
“ Fa-ah-well !” 

“ Well ?” said Booties, finding no one seemed 
inclined to speak. “Well?” 


14 


MIGNON. 


“ Well,” said Preston, solemnly, “ if you want 
my opinion. Booties, I think you ought to be 
ashamed of yourself.” 

A general laugh followed, but Booties pro- 
tested. 

“ Oh, don’t imagine it’s me. Pve nothing to 
do with it. I shouldn’t have come to you fellows 
if I had.” 

“ No, no, of course not,” returned Miles, prompt- 
ly, but with an air which raised another shout. 

“ Then it’s a plant,” announced Preston, in a tone 
of conviction. 

“ Of course it’s a plant,” cried Booties ; “ but 
why in the wide world should it be planted on 
me?” 

“ Why, indeed ?” echoed Miles, feelinglj'. 

“ Besides,” Booties continued, “ some of you know 
my mother, and that her name was not Mary but 
Mai’garet.” 

Now as several of those present had known Lady 
Margaret Ferrers very well, that was a strong point 
in favor of Preston’s assertion that the affair was a 
plant. The chief question, however, was what 
could be done with the little stranger for that 
night. Some woman, of course, must look after 
it, but who ? It was then after two o’clock, and 


MIGNON. 


15 


tlie lights had been out hours ago in the luarrled 
people’s quartei-s. Booties did not know what to 
do, and said so. 

“ Is it in 3’our room now ?” Preston asked. 

“Yes.” 

“Where did 3*011 find it?” 

“ In in}" cot.” 

“ The devil 3*011 did ! I wonder 3*011 weren’t 
frightened out of 3^0111* ver3* wits.” 

“I nearly was,” Booties admitted. 

“ Did 3"0ii see it at once ? Was it howling?” 

“Howling? Not a bit of it. Never saw a jolli- 
er little beggar in all my life.” 

“ Oh !” ejaculated Miles, blankh*. “ I say, you 
fellows, don’t that sound to 3*011 veiy much like the 
proud pap — ah ?” 

“You fellows” all laughed at this, even per- 
plexed Booties, and Ilartog asked a question. 

“ Did you see it directly. Booties ?” , 

“ Oh no ; not for half an hour or more.” 

“What on earth did 3*011 do?” 

“Why, I looked at it of course. What would 
you have done ?” 

“ Did you touch it ?” 

Booties laughed. “ Yes, b3’ Jove, the little beg- 
gar came to me like a bird.” 


16 


MIGNON. 


“Great gods!” uttered Miles, “and you can 
doubt the fatherliness of that /” 

“ Oh, what an ass you are !” returned Hartog ; 
then, as if by a bright inspiration, suggested, “ I 
say, let’s go and have a look at it.” 

Thereupon the assembled officers, five of them, 
trooped along the way Booties had stumbled over 
alone in the blindness of his now forgotten head- 
ache. The baby was still in the cot, contentedly 
playing with the watch and chain, and at the sight 
of the five resplendent figures it set up a loud 
“ Boo — boo — boo — ing,” followed by a “ Chucka — 
chucka — chucka — ing.” Evidently it considered 
this was the land of Goshen. 

“ Seems to take after its mother in its love for 
a scarlet jacket,” remarked Miles, sententiously. 
“ I’ve heard that the child is father of the man — 
seems of the woman too.” 

“ Booties,” said Lacy, gravely, “ isn’t it very 
pwretty?” ' 

“ Yes, poor little beggar.” 

“ Let’s see you nurse it,” cried Ilartog. 

So Booties, proud of this new accomplishment, 
lifted the child awkwardly in his arms, pretty 
much as he might have done if it had been a 
sackful of eggs, and he had made a w^ager he 



“let’s go and hate a look at it.” 





MIGNON. 


19 


wouldn’t break one of tliem. lie carried it to 
the fire. 

“Just light the candles, one of yon,” he said. 

“ It’s the image of Booties,” persisted Miles. 

“Well, it isn’t mine, except by deed of gift,” 
returned Booties, with a laugh. 

“ Booties,” said Lacy, “ look back over your past 
life — ” Here he made a pause. 

“Well?” said Booties, expectantlj’. 

“Twry to think if you can twrace any likeness 
to some early love, who may have marwried — or, 
for that matter, not have marwried — some one 
else, and — er — wremembering your kind heart — 
for you have a dashed kind heart. Booties, there’s 
no denying it — may have found herself hard up 
or too much encumbered — for — er — you know, a 
babay is sometimes an awkward addition to a 
lady’s belongings — and may have twrusted to 
your — er — general — well, shall we say softness of 
chawracter to see it well pwrovided for — er — see?” 

“ No, I don’t. Of course I see what you mean, 
but I can’t — ” 

“ Well — er — ” Lacy broke in, “ I — er — pewraps 
was not thinking so much of your case as of my 
own. You see,” appealing to the other three, 
“the advent of this — er — babay cwreates a pre- 


20 


MIGNON. 


cedent, and — er — if it should chance to occur to 
rmj first love — it would be awkward — for me, very 
awkward. Her name,” plunging headlong into a 
story they all knew, “ was Naomi, arid — er — she — 
er — in fact, jilted me for an elephantine parson, 
whose reverend name was — er — Fligg, Solomon 
riigg. Now, if Mrs. — er — Solomon Fligg was to 
take it into her head to pack up the — er — eleven 
little Fliggs and send ’em to me — it would be 
what I should call awkward — devilish awkward.” 
Lacy’s four hearers positively roared, and the baby 
on Booties’s knee chuckled and crowed with de- 
light. 

“ I believe it understands,” Preston laughed. 

“No. Bnt it seems a jolly little chap,” an- 
swered Booties. “ Oh, I forgot, ’tis a girl. I say, 
I do wish you fellows would advise me what to 
do. flow can I get any one to attend to it ?” 

“ Oh, roll it up in the bedclothes and sleep on 
the sofa. It will go to sleep when it’s tired,” said 
one. 

“ With its clothes on?” said Booties, doubtfully. 

“ I rather fancy they undress babies when they 
put ’em to bed.” 

“I don’t advise you to try. Oh, it won’t hurt 
for to-night.” 


DOOTLES, PROUD OF IIIS NF.W ACCOMPLISHMENT, LIFTED THE CHILD AWKWARDLY IN IlIS ARMS. 


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4 


MIGNON. 


23 


“There’s a cab just driven up. I believe it’s 
the Grays. I saw them go out dressed before 
dinner,” said Ilartog. The Grays were the ad- 
jutant and his wife, who lived in barracks. “ She 
would help you in a minute.” 

“ Oh, go and see ; there’s a good chap,” Booties 
cried, eagerly. 

Hartog therefore went out. He found that it 
was the adjutant with his wife returning from a 
party, and to the lady he addressed himself. “ Oh, 
Ml’S. Gray, Booties is in such trouble — ” he began. 

“ In trouble ? — Booties ? — Captain Ferrers ?” she 
said. “ What is the matter ?” 

“ Well, he’s got a baby,” Ilartog answered. 

“ Got WHAT ?” Mi-s. Gray cried. 

“ A baby. It’s been left in his rooms, clothes 
and all, and Booties don’t know what the de — , 
what in the world, I mean, to do with it.” 

“ Shall I go in and see it ?” Mrs. Gray asked. 

“I wish you would. Some of the others are 
there.” 

Well, eventually Mi-s. Gray carried off the little 
stranger to her own quarters, and put it to bed. 
As for Booties, he too went to bed, but during the 
whole of that blessed night he never slept a wink. 

2 


24 


MIGNON. 


Chaptek II. 

When Booties showed his face in the mess-room 
the following morning he was greeted by such a 
volley of chaff as would have driven a more ner- 
vous man, or one less of a favorite than himself, 
to despair. Already the story had gone the round 
of the barracks, and Booties found the greater part 
of his brother oflBcers ready and willing to take 
Miles’s view of the affair, whether in chaff or 
downright good earnest he could not say. 

“ Halloo ! Booties, my man,” shouted one when 
he entered, “ what’s this story we hear ? Is it pos- 
sible that Booties — our immaculate and philan- 
thropical Booties — Oh, Booties! Booties! how 
are the mighty fallen !” 

“Hey?” inquired Booties, sweetly. 

“I wouldn’t have believed it of you. Booties; 
I w^ouldn’t indeed. Any other fellow in the regi- 
ment — that soft-headed Lacy grinning over there, 
for instance — but out Booties — ” He broke off 
as if words could not express the volumes he 


MIGNOK 


25 


tlioiiglit, but found his tongue and went on again 
before Booties could open his mouth. “ Our Boot- 
ies with an unacknowledged wife sworn not to 
disclose her marriage — our Booties with a baby — 
our Booties a papa ! Oli lor!” 

“ Why didn’t you manage better, Booties ?” cried 
anotlier. “You might have sent her an odd fiver 
now and then. You have plenty.” 

“ Is she pretty, Booties ?” asked a third. 

“ Was there by any chance a flaw in the mar- 
riage ?” inquired a fourth. 

“Do you think I’m a fool?” asked Booties, 
pleasantly. “I tell you it’s a plant. I know 
nothing about the creature.” 

“Just my view,” struck in Miles, “Just what 
I said last night. It’s absurd, you know, to ex- 
pect him to own it. No fellow would. Besides, 
does Booties look like the. father of a fine bounc- 
ing baby that goes * Chucka, chucka, chuck ?’ It’s 
absurd, you know.” 

Even Booties joined in the laugh which followed, 
and Miles continued : * 

“The only thing is — and it really is awkward 
for Booties — the extraordinary likeness. Blue 
eyes, golden hair, fair complexion. I should say 
myself” — looking at his comrade critically, “that 


26 


MIGNON. 


at the same age Booties was just such a baby as 
that which turned up so mysteriously last niglit.” 

“ That’s as may be. Any way, the youngster is 
not mine,” said Booties, emphatically ; “ and what 
to do witli the little beggar I don’t know.” 

“ Send it back to its mother,” suggested Daw- 
son. 

“ But I don’t know who the mother is,” Booties 
answered, impatiently. 

“ Oh no ; so you say. Well, then, the brat must 
have growed, like Topsy. If I were you I should 
send it to the police-station.’’ 

“The police-station? Oh no; hang it all, the 
poor little beggar has done nothing to start the 
world in that way,” Booties answered. 

“ Did any of yon,” asked Miles of the general 
compan}^, “ ever hear of a chap called Solomon ?” 

“ I — er — did,” answered Lacy, promptly. “ His 
other name was — er — Fligg. The Keverend Sol- 
omon Fligg.” 

“ Oh, we’ve all heard of him ! but I meant a 
rather more celebrated person. There is a story 
about him — I rather think it’s in Proverbs ” — elic- 
iting a yell of laughter. “Not Proverbs? Well, 
perhaps it’s in the Song of Solomon. It’s about 
two mothers, who each had a baby, and one of 


MIGNON, 


27 


them managed to smother hers in the night, and 
finding it dead wlien she woke np in tlie morn- 
ing, claimed the other baby. Of course the otlicr 
woman kicked np a row, a regular shindy, and 
they came before Solomon to get the matter set- 
tled. ‘ Both claim it,’ said he. ‘ Oh' chop it in 
half, and let each have a share — ’ But you all 
know the rest. How the real mother gave up her 
claim sooner than see the child halved. Now in 
this case, you see. Booties hasn’t the heart 'to send 
the child off to the police-station, as he would 
if — ” 

“Here’s the colonel,” said some one at this 
point, and in less than two seconds he appeared. 

“Why, Ferrers,” he said, “I’ve been hearing a 
queer tale about you.” 

“ Yes, sir,” said Booties, dismally ; “ and where 
it will end /don’t know! Here am I saddled — ” 

“ Well, of course you know whether the child 
has any claim upon you — ” the colonel began. 

“ Upon my honor it has not, colonel,” said Boot- 
ies, earnestly. 

“ Tlien that, of course, settles the question,” re- 
plied the colonel, with a frown at the grinning 
faces along the table. “ I should send the child 
to the ■workhouse immediately.” 


28 


MIGNON. 


“ The workhouse ?” repeated Booties, reflect- 
ively. 

“I’ll bet any one a fiver he don’t,” murmured 
Miles to his neighbors. 

“ Not he. Madame la Mere knew what she was 
doing when* she picked out Booties. He’ll get one 
of the sergeants’ wives to look after it ; see if he 
don’t.” 

After the chief had left the room. Booties con- 
tinued his breakfast in silence, considering the two 
suggestions for the disposal of the child. Now, 
if the truth be told, Booties had a horror of work- 
houses. He had gone deeply into the “Casual” 
question, and pitied a tramp from the very inmost 
recesses of his kind heart. It fairly made him 
sick to think of that bonny golden head growing 
up among the shorn and unlovely locks of a pau- 
per brood — to think of the little soft fingers that 
had twined themselves so confidently about his 
own, and had picked at the embroideries of his 
mess waistcoat, being slapped by tlie matron, or 
set as soon as they should be strong enough to do 
coarse and hard work, to develop into the* unnat- 
urally widened and unkempt hand of a “ Mar- 
chioness ” — to think of that little dainty thing being 
nourished on skilly, or on whatever hard fare pan- 


MIGNON. 


29 


per children are fed — to think of that little aris- 
tocrat being brought np among the children of 
thieves and vagabonds ! 

“ Oh, confound it all,” he broke out, “ I can't.” 

“I never expected yon could,” retorted Miles. 
“ It wouldn’t be natural if you did.” 

This time Booties did not laugh ; on the con- 
trary, he looked np and regarded Miles with' a 
grave and searching gaze, rather disconcerting to 
that quizzical young gentleman. 

“Are you judging me out of your own bushel?” 
he asked. 

“ How ? What do you mean ?” Miles stammered. 

“ Do yoic happen to know anything of the mat- 
ter?” Booties persisted. 

“ I ? Oh no. On my honor I don’t.” 

“Ah! As the colonel said just now, that set- 
tles the question. You’re a very witty fellow, 
Miles, very. I shouldn’t wonder, after a while, if 
you ain’t quite the sharp man of the regiment. 
Only your jokes are like the clown’s jokes at the 
circus — one gets to know them. They’re in this 
kind of way : 

“‘Ever been in Paris, Mr. Lando?’ 

“ ‘ Yes, of course. Bell.’ 

“‘Ever been in Vienna, Mr. Lando?’ 


30 


MIGNON. 


“ ‘ To be sure, Bell.’ 

“ ‘ Ever been in Geneva, Mr. Lando V 

“ ‘ Of course I have, Bell.’ 

“‘Ever been in jail, Mr. Lando?’ 

“‘Of course I have. Bell — at least — that’s to 
say — I mean — no, of course I haven’t.’ 

“ ‘ Why, Mr. Lando, I saw you there.’ 

“‘You saw me in jail. Bell? And what were 
you doing to see me ?’ 

“ ‘ Oh !’ grandly, ‘ I was staying with the gov- 
ernor for the good of my ’ealth.’ 

“ ‘ And hadn’t stealing a cow something to do 
with it, eh. Bell?’ 

“ ‘ Yah. Wlio stole a watch ?’ 

. “ ‘ A Jersey cow, eh. Bell ?’ 

“ ‘ Yah. What time is it, Mr. Lando ?’ 

“ ‘Just about milking time. Bell, my friend.’ 

“It’s all very funny once, you know. Miles,” 
Booties ended, disdainfully. “But when you’ve 
been to the circus half a dozen times you don’t 
see anything to laugh at, somehow.” 

For grace’s sake Miles was obliged to laugh, 
for every one else roared, except Booties, who 
went on speaking very gravely : 

“ I know it’s very amusing to make a joke of 
the affair, to say I know more about it than I will 


MIGNON-. 


31 


confess. I have told the colonel on my honor 
that the child is not mine, nor do I know whose 
it is. If it were mine I should not have made 
the story public property — it’s not in reason that 
I should. My difficulty is wliat to do with it. 
The colonel suggests the workhouse, Dawson the 
police-station — one simply means the other, and I 
can’t bring me to do it. It is an awful thing for 
the child of a tramp or a thief to be reared in a 
workhouse — aud this is no common person’s child. 
For anything I know it may belong to one of 
you.” 

“ That’s true enough,” observed a man who had 
not yet taken part in the discussion, except to laugh 
now and then. “But remember. Booties, if you 
saddle yourself with the child you will have to go 
on with it. It will stick to you like a burr, and 
though we are all ready to accept your word of 
honor, the w’orld may not be so. If you put tlie 
brat out to nurse in the regiment, the story may 
crop up years hence, just when you least desire or 
expect it; and, you know, a story — mixed and con- 
fused by time and repetition — about a deserted 
wife may come to have a very ugly sound about it. 
Now if, as the colonel suggests, you send the child 
to the workhouse, you wash your hands of the 


32 


MIGNON. 


whole business. Tlien, again, if the brat is brought, 
up in the regiment, with the disadvantage of your 
protection, what will she be in twenty years’ time ? 
Neither fish, flesh, nor good red herring. Far bet- 
ter the oblivion of pauperism than the distinction 
among the men of being Captain Ferrers’s — shall 
we jprotegeeT' 

“ Yes, there’s a great deal in that,” Booties ad- 
mitted. He had at all times a great respect for 
ITarkness, and profound faith in the soundness of 
his judgment. He saw at once that any plan of 
bringing the child up among the married people 
of the regiment would not do, and yet — the work- 
house. 

He rose from the table and settled his forage 
cap upon his head. “ I dare say you fellows will 
laugh at me,” he said, almost desperately, as he 
pulled the chin -strap over his mustache, “but I 
can’t condemn that helpless thing to the work- 
house — I can't, and that’s all about it. It seems 
to me,” he went on, rubbing the end of his whip 
on the back of a chair, and looking at no one — “it 
seems to me that the child’? future in this world 
and the next depends upon the course I take now. 
And you may laugh at me — I dare say you will,” 
he said, quite nervously fo.^'liim — “ but I shall get 



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MIGNON. 


35 


a proper nni’se to take charge of it, and I shall 
keep it myself until some one turns up to claim it 
— or — or for good.” 

Just then officers’- call sounded, and Booties 
made a clean bolt of it, leaving his brother offi- 
cer staring amazedly at one another. The first 
of them to make a move was Lacy — the fii-st, too, 
to speak. 

“Upon my soul,” said he, “Booties is a devilish 

fine fellow; and,d it all,” he added, getting very 

red, and scarcely drawling, in his intense rage of 
admiration, “ if there were a few more fellows in 
the world like him, it would be a vewry diffewrent 
place to what it is.” 


36 


MIGNON. 


Chaptee III. 

As soon as Booties had a spare moment he made 
his way to the adjutant’s quarters, where he found 
Mrs. Gray playing with the mysterious baby. 

“ Oh, is that yon. Captain Ferrers ?” she ex- 
claimed. “ Come and see your waif. She is the 
dearest little thing. Why, I do believe she knows 
you.” 

Booties whistled to the child, which promptly 
made a grab at his chain, and when he sat down 
on the sofa on which it was sprawling, tried very 
hard to get at the gold badge on his collar. Shoul- 
der badges had not then come in. 

“Mrs. Gray,” Booties said, “she’s very well 
dressed, is she not ?” 

“ Oh, very,” Mrs. Gray answered, smoothing out 
the child’s skirt so as to display the fine and deep 
embroidery. “ Unusually so. All its clothes are 
of the finest and most expensive description.” 

“I thought so; it doesn’t look like a common 
child, eh?” 



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MIGNON. 


39 


“ Xot at all,” replied the lady, promptly. 

“ Well,” Booties told liei’, “ I’ve been most un- 
mercifully chaffed, which was only to be expected; 
but the colonel takes my word about it, and of 
course the others don’t matter. I can’t think, 
though, why the mother has chosen me.” 

“Ah, well, yon see. Captain Ferrei-s,” said the 
adjutant’s wife, with a smile, “it is rather incon- 
venient sometimes to have a character for great 
kindness of heart. I should say you are the great- 
est favorite in the regiment, and, naturally enough, 
the officers speak of it sometimes in society. ‘ Oh, 
Booties is this, and Booties is that;’ ‘Booties wouldn’t 
turn a dog from his door;’ ‘Booties would sliare 
liis last sixpence with a poor chap who was down,’ 
and so on. I have heard. Captain Ferrei-s, of your 
emptying your pockets to divide among three poor 
tramps who had begged no more than a pipe of 
tobacco. 1 have heard of your standing up for” — 
with a deeper smile — “ the poor devils of casuals ; 
and if I hear it, why not others? why not the 
mother of this child?” 

“ True. But I think you all overrate my char- 
acter,” Booties replied, modestly. “You know I 
don’t go in for being saintly at all.” 

“ That is just it. If you did you would have no 


40 


MIGNON. 


more iufliicnce than Major Allardyce, whom every 
one laughs at. But you don’t; you are one of them- 
selves, and yet you will always help a man who is 
down ; you will do any unfortunate creature a good 
turn. Oh, I hear a good deal, though you choose to 
make light of it. And you know. Captain Ferrers, 
we are not told that the good Samaritan made a 
great spluttering about what he did ; but the pro- 
fessional saints, the priest and the Levite, passed 
by on the other side.” 

“You are very complimentary,” Booties said, 
blushing a little ; “ much more than I deserve. I’m 
sure. The fellows ” — laughing at the remembrance 
— “were much less merciful. Then about the child. 
Dawson suggests sending it to the police-station, 
tlie colonel to the workliouse; and one means the 
otlier, of course.” 

Mrs. Gray caught the child to her breast with a 
cry of dismay, and Booties went on : 

“ Yes, I feel as you do about it. I carCt do it, 
and that’s all about it. It would be on my con- 
science all my life. Besides, some day the mother 
might come back for it, and though of course, as 
the colonel says, there is no claim upon me, yet, if 
for the sake of a few pounds I had turned the poor 
little beggar adrift, ruined its life — why I simply 


MIGNON. 


41 


couldn’t face her, and that’s all about it. And be- 
sides that, Mrs. Gray, I have a lurking suspicion 
that the letter is genuine, and that it was not writ- 
ten to or intended for me. It reads to me like the 
letter of a woman who was desperate.” 

“ Yes, a woman must have been desperate in- 
deed to willingly part with such a child as 
that,” said Mrs. Gray, smoothing the gold baby 
curls. 

“ So I think, for nature is nature all the world 
over,” Booties answered. “ And besides, to tell you 
the honest truth, there is a resemblance in the child 
to some one I knew once — ” 

“Yes?” eagerly. 

“ Oh no, not that ! She is dead. She was en- 
gaged to a fellow I knew, desperately fond of him, 
and he — jilted her.” 

“Mr. Kerr?” 

Booties stared. “ Who told you ?” 

“ He told me himself, I think to ease his mind,” 
she answered, quietly. 

“Ah ! Well, it killed her. She died heart-broken. 
I saw her,” he said, rising and going to the window, 
whence he sto’od staring out over the square, “a few 
hours after she died. That child’s mother may 
look like that now, and I can’t and won’t turn it 


42 


MIGNON. 


adrift, whatever the fellows or any one else chooses^ 
to think or say, and that’s all about it.” 

Two bright tears gathered in Mrs. Gray’s eyes, 
and falling, fell upon the baby’s curls of gold, two 
priceless diamonds from the unfathomable and 
exhaustless mines of pity. For a moment or two 
there was silence, broken at last by the child’s 
laugh, as a ray of sickly winter sunshine fell 
upon the glittering chain in its little hands. The 
sound recovered Booties, who turned from the 
window. 

“ And so, Mrs. Gray,” he said, carefully avoid- 
ing the gaze of her wet eyes, “ I have determined 
to keep the little beggar ; but Ilarkness, who’s no 
fool, you know, has convinced me that it won’t do 
to trust to any of the barrack women to look after 
her. Therefore, if you won’t mind undertaking 
it for a few days, I will advertise for a respectable 
elderly nurse to take entire charge of the creature. 

I dare say I can arrange with Smithers for an ex- 
tra room, and you’ll let me come to you for advice 
now and then, won’t you 2” 

Mrs. Gray rose and went close to him, laying 
her hand upon his arm. “ Captain Ferrers,” she 
said, earnestly, “ you will have your reward. God 
will bless you for this.” 



Mi:S. GRAY ROSE AND WENT CLOSE TO HIM, LAYING HER HAND UPON HIS 

ARM. 





MIGNON. 


45 


“Oil, please don’t, Mrs. Gray,” Booties stam- 
mered. “ Really I’d rather you’d chaff me.” 

Mrs. Gray laughed outright. “ Well, you know 
what my sentiments are, so for the future I will 
chaff you unmercifully. — Come in,” she added, in 
a louder tone, as a “tap-tap” sounded on the 
door. 

The permission was followed by the entrance of 
Lacy, who came in with a pleasant “ Good — er — • 
morning,” and a soft laugh at the sight of the 
baby on the sofa. 

“I — er — thought old Booties would be here,” 
he explained. “And besides — I — er — wanted to 
see the babay. Seems to me. Booties,” he added, 
staring with an absurd air of reflective wisdom at 
the infant, “ as if the face is somehow familiar to 
me. Oh, I don't mean you. It isn’t a bit like 
3*ou. But there is a likeness, though I don’t know 
where to plant it.” 

“ Perhaps it will grow,” suggested Booties. 

“ Ah ! pewraps it will, and pewraps it won’t. 
The worst of the afi^air is that it is cwreating a 
pwrecedent” — not for worlds would he have ad- 
mitted to his friend that he thought him the fine 
fellow he had declared him in the mess-room that 
morning — “ and if we are all inundated with ba- 


46 


MIGNON. 


bays I wreally don’t know ” (plaintively) “ wliat 
the wregiment will come to.” 

“ Gar — ah — gar — ah !” chuckled the subject of 
this speech over the gold knob at the top of Lacy’s 
whip. “ Cluck — cluck — cluck !” 

“Little beggah seems to find it a good joke, 
any way,” Lacy cried. “I’m a gwreat hand at 
nursing. Our adjutant’s wife in the White Dwra- 
goons had thwree — all at once. I say, Mrs. Gwray, 
stick something on it, and I’ll take it out and show 
it wround.” 

“ Dare you ?” she asked. 

■“Dawre I? Just twry. By-the-bye, it’s cold 
this morning — vewry cold.” 

Mi-s. Gray therefore fetched the child’s white 
coat and cap and those other white woollen arti- 
cles, which Booties now discovered to be leggings, 
and quickly transformed the little woman into a 
sort of snowball. Tlie two men watched the op- 
eration with intense interest. 

^^Lajiglia del wreggimento^'‘ laughed Lacy. “ I 
declare. Booties, she’s quite a credit to us. I never 
saw such ^petite mademoiselle^'^ 

Booties started. It reminded him who liad been 
jilted by his friend and died for love. He had al- 
ways called her Mademoiselle Mignon. 


MIGNON. 


47 


“Mademoiselle Migiion,” he said, carelessly; 
“ not a bad name for her.” 

“Yewry good,” returned Lacy, preparing to 
present arms. 

He proved himself a much better nurse than 
Booties. He gathered the child on his left arm 
and marched off to the anteroom, in front of 
which the officers were standing about, waiting 
for church. They set up a shout at the sight of 
him, and crowded round to inspect the new im- 
portation. Mademoiselle Mignon bore tlie inspec- 
tion calmly, conscious perhaps — as she was such a 
knowing little person — of tlie effect of her big, 
blue, star-like eyes under the white fur of her cap. 

“What a pity she ain’t twenty years older!” was 
tlie first comment, and it was said in such a tone 
of genuine regret that all the fellows laughed 
again. Miss Mignon gobbled with s^ltisf action. 

“ Seems a jolly little beggar,” said another. 

“ Chut — chut — chut !” remarked Miss Mignon. 

“Never saw such a jolly little beggar in all my 
life,” asserted another voice. 

“ Pretty work she’ll make in the regiment six- 
teen or seventeen years hence,” grumbled old 
Garnet. 

“Ah, well, nevah mind. Garnet — nevah you 


48 


MIGNON. 


mind, Major Garnet, sir,” cried Ilartog, “ we shall 
all be dead by then but this being an exceed- 
ingly old and threadbare regimental joke was in- 
stantly snubbed in the face of the new and sub- 
stantial one. 

“ Has it any teeth demanded Miles, the orderly 
officer for the day. 

“Don’t know. Open your mouth, little one,” 
said Lacy, gravely. 

At this point Miss Mignon made a delighted 
lunge in the direction of the belt across Miles’s 
breast. Lacy shouted, “ Whoa, whoa,” and Miles 
immediately backed out of reach. Miss Mignon’s 
mouth went dismally down, until Lacy remem- 
bered the knob of his whip, and held it np for 
delectation. 

“ Boo — boo !” she crowed. 

“ By Jove ! She can half say Booties already,” 
ejaculated Ilartog. “ And here he comes.” 

“Now, then,” Booties called out, “have any of 
.you fellows made up your mind to own this lit- 
tle baggage ?” 

“ No ; none of ns,” they laughed ; but one man, 
Gilchrist by name, said, with a sneer, he should 
rather think not, and added two unnecessary words 
— ^'■workhouse hratT 


MIGNON. 


49 


Booties turned, and looked down upon him in 
profoundest contempt. 

“ My dear chap,” he said, coolly, “ to charge 
you with being the father of that child,” point- 
ing with his whip to the picture in Lacy’s arms, 
“ would be a compliment on your personal ap- 
pearance which I should never, under any circum- 
stances, have dreamed of paying yon.” 

“I’ll tell you what it is,” said Ilartog after- 
wards to Lacy, “Booties is a dashed good fellow 
— one of the best fellows in the world. I don’t 
know that there’s another I’d trust as far or as 
thoroughly ; but all the same. Booties is some- 
times best left alone, and, for my part, I think 
Gilchrist and every one else had best leave him 
alone about this jmungster.” 

“Ya — as,” returned Lacy; then began to laugh. 
“ Oh ! but it was fine, though, about ‘ personal ap- 
pearance.’ ” And then he added, “ Ugly little 
beast !” 


50 


MIGNON. 


Chapter IV. 

It was not to be expected, and Booties did not 
expect it, that the story of the mysterious little 
stranger could be confined to barracks. In fact, 
in the course of a few hours it had flown all over 
the town, gaining additions and alterations by the 
frequency of its repetition, until at last Booties 
himself could hardly recognize it. A baby had 
been found in Captain Ferrers’s rooms; no one 
knew where it had come from nor to whom it 
belonged. Then — Captain Ferrers had rescued 
a young baby from a brutal father who was go- 
ing to dash its brains out against the door - post. 
Then — Captain Ferrers had picked up a new-born 
infant while hunting with the duke’s hounds. 
Then — Captain Ferrers was suffering from men- 
tal aberration, or, to speak plainly, was getting a 
bit cracked, and had adopted a child a year old 
out of Idleminster workhouse. Then — It was 
really most romantic, but Captain Ferrers had 
been engaged to and jilted by a young lady long 


MIGNON. 


51 


ago — which, of course, accounted for his l^eing 
impervious to the fascinations of the Idleminster 
girls — who had married, been deserted by her 
husband, and now died — some versions of the 
story said “committed suicide” — leaving him the 
charge of a baby, etc. 

Some people told one version of the story and 
some people told another, but nobody blamed 
Booties very much. It might be because he was 
so rich and so handsome and pleasant; it might 
be because Idleminster society was free from that 
leaven of censoriousness which causes most people 
to look at most things from the worst possible 
view. 

But Booties went on his serene way, telling the 
true state of the case to evei’y one who mentioned 
the affair to him, and always ending, “And hang 
it, you know, it’s a pretty little beggar, and I 
couldnH send it to the workhouse.” 

He made no secret about it at all, and on the 
Saturday following the advent of the child an 
advertisement appeared in the Idleminster Chron- 
icle which made Idleminster tongues clack for a 
week : 

“ Wanted, immediately, a highly respectable and 
thoroughly experienced nurse of middle age, to 


52 


MIGNON. 


take the entire charge of a child about a year old. 
Good wages to a suitable person. Apply to Cap- 
tain Ferrers, Scarlet Lancers.” 

In due time this advertisement produced the 
right sort of person, and a staid and respectable 
widow of about fifty was soon installed in a room 
next to Mr. Gray’s quarters, in charge of Miss 
Mignon, as the child had already come to be called 
by everybody. 

It was a charming child — strong and healthy, 
seemed to have no trouble with temper or teeth, 
hardly ever cried, and might be seen morning and 
afternoon being wheeled by its nurse in a baby- 
carriage about the barrack square or along the 
road outside the Broad Arrow boundaries. And 
so, as the w-eeks rolled by and wore into months, 
it began to toddle about, and could say Booties ” 
as plain as a pike-staff. 

In April the Scarlet Lancers were moved from 
Idleminster to Blankhampton, where Booties had 
to undergo a new experience, for every one there 
took him for a widower on account of the child. 

Booties would explain. “ Take her about with 
me? Yes; she likes it. Always wants to go 
when she sees the trap. A bother? Not a bit 
of it; the jolllcst little woman in creation, and 


MIGNON. 


53 


as good as gold. What am I going to do with 
lier when she grows up ? ’Well, Lacy says he is 
going to marry her. If he don’t, somebody else 
will — no fear.” 

Taking it all round. Miss Mignon had a remark- 
ably good time of it, and seemed thoroughly to 
appreciate the pleasant places in which her lines 
had fallen. It was wonderful, too, what an im- 
mense favorite she was with “ the fellows.” At 
first she had been “Booties’s brat,” but very soon 
that was dropped, and by the time she could tod- 
dle, which she did in very good time, no one 
thought of mentioning her or of speaking to her 
except as ‘“Miss Mignon.” Scarcely any of the 
officers dreamed for a moment of returning after 
a few days’ leave without “ taking along,” as the 
Americans say, a box of sweets or a bundle of 
toys for Miss Mignon. Indeed the young lady 
came to have such a collection that after a while 
Mrs. Nurse’s patient soul arose, and with Captain 
Ferrers’s permission all the discarded ones were 
distributed among the less fortunate children of 
the regiment. 

But Miss Mignon’s favorite plaything was Boot- 
ies himself — after Booties, Lacy. People said it 
was wonderful, the depth of the affection between 


54 


MIGNON. 


the big soldier of thirty-five and the little dot of 
a child, scarcely two. Booties she adored, and 
where Booties was she would be, if by hook or by 
crook she could convey her small person into his 
presence. Once she spied iiim turn in at the 
gates on the right hand of the colonel, when the 
regiment was returning from a field-day, and es- 
caping from her nurse’s hand, set off as hard as 
she could run in the direction of the band, which 
immediately preceded the commanding officer. 
Mrs. Nurse gave chase, but alas! Mrs. Nurse was 
stout, and had the ill luck, moreover, to come a 
cropper over a drain tile lying conveniently in 
her way, while the child, unconscious of danger, 
ran straight for Booties. Neither Booties nor 
Lacy, who was on the colonel’s left, perceived 
her until she was close upon them, w^aving her 
small hands, and shouting, in her shrill and joy- 
ous child’s voice, “ Booties 1 Booties !” 

It seemed to Booties, as he looked past the 
colonel, that the child was almost under the hoofs 
of Lacy’s charger. “ Lacy 1” he called out — 
“Lacy!” But Lacy was already on the ground, 
and caught Miss Mignon out of harm’s way ; but 
when he turned round he saw that his friend’s 
face was as white as chalk. 


BUT LACY WAS ALREADY ON THE GROUND, AND CAUGHT MISS MIGNON OUT OF HARm’s WAY. 


: 




* 


MIGNON. 


57 


As for tlie colonel, when he saw Mrs. Nurse 
gathering herself np with rueful looks at the drain 
tile, he simply roared, and Miss Mignon chimed in 
as if it were the finest joke in the world. 

“ That was a smash,” she remarked, from her 
proud position on Lacy’s shoulder, “just like 
Ilumpty Dumpty ” — a comment which gave that 
estimable person the name of Mrs. Ilumpty 
Dumpty as long as she remained with the regi- 
ment. 

A few weeks after this the annual inspection 
came off, and Miss Mignon, resenting the length- 
ened absence of her Booties, again managed to 
escape from her nurse, and pattered boldly, as 
fast as her small feet wmuld carry her, right into 
the mess-room, where Booties was sitting, just 
opposite the general, at the late lunch. Miss 
Mignon not seeing liim at fii-st, wandered coolly 
behind the row of scarlet -clad backs, until she 
spied him at the other side of the table. Then, 
having no awe whatever of inspecting oflScers, 
she wedged herself in between his chair and the 
colonel’s with a triumphant and joyous laugh. 

The general gave a great start, and the colonel 
laughed. Booties, in dismay, jumped up, and 
came quickly round the table to take her away. 


58 


MIGNON. 


“ Well, you little rogue,” said the colonel, reach- 
ing a nectarine for her. “ What do you want ?” 

“ I wanted Booties, sir,” said Miss Mignon, con- 
fidentially. “ And nurse failed asleep, so I tooked 
French leave.” Almost the only peculiarity in 
her speech was the habit of making all verbs 
regular. 

“ And who are you, my little maid ?” the gen- 
eral asked, in extreme amusement. 

“ Oh, I’m Miss Mignon,” with dignity. 

The old general fairly chuckled with delight, 
and as he had put his arm round the child. Boot- 
ies, who was standing behind, could not very well 
take her away. 

“ Oh, Miss Mignon — hey ? And whom do you 
belong to ?” 

“ Wh}’, to Booties,” in surprise at his ignorance. 

“ To Booties ? And who is Booties ?” 

“Booties is Booties, and I love him,” Miss 
Mignon replied, as if that settled everything. 

“ Happy Booties !” cried the old soldier. 

“What a lot of medals you’ve got!” cried Miss 
Mignon, pressing closer. 

“ I’m afraid, sir, she is troubling you,” Booties 
jnterposed at this point, but secretly delighted 
with the turn affairs had taken. 



t 





MIGNON. 


61 • 


“ No, no ; let her see my medals,” replied the 
general, who was as proud of his medals as Boot- 
ies of Miss Mignon. 

“Are you a ‘sir’ too?” Miss Mignon asked, 
gazing at the handsome old man with more re- 
spect. 

“ What does she mean ?” he cried. 

Booties laughed. 

“Well, sir, she hears us speak to the colonel so, 
that is all.” 

“Dear me! What a remarkably intelligent 
and attractive child 1” exclaimed the general, qui- 
etly. “ How old is she ?” 

“ About two, sir.” 

Now it happened that the old general had a 
craze for absolute accuracy, and ho caught Boot- 
ies up with pleasant sharpness. 

“ Oh ! Does that mean more or less ?” 

“ I can’t say, sir. She is about two. I do not 
know the date of her birth.” 

“ Then she is not yours ?” 

“ I am not her father, sir, but at present she 
belongs to me,” Booties said, smiling. “ I’m 
afraid — ” 

“Not at all, but perhaps she had better go. 
Wluit a charming child 1” This last was perhaps 


63 


MIGXON, 


because Miss Mignon, finding her time had come 
— and she never made a fuss on such occasions — 
put two soft arms round liis neck, and gave him 
such a genuine hug of friendship that the old 
man’s heart was quite taken by storm. 

So Miss Mignon was carried off, looking back 
to the last over Booties’s shoulder, and waving her 
adieu to the handsome old man, who had such a 
fascinating array of clasps and medals. 

“I didn’t quite understand — what relation is 
the child to him ?” he asked of the colonel. 

“None whatever. Ferrers found her late one 
night in his bed, with her wardrobe, and a letter 
from the mother, written as if Ferrei-s was the fa- 
ther. He, however, gave me his word of honor 
that he knew nothing about it, and some of us 
think the whole affair was simply a plant, as he 
is known to be a very kind-hearted fellow. Oth- 
ers, however, Ferrers among them, think that note 
and child were intended for one of the others. 
Nobody, however, would own to it, and Ferrei-s 
has kept the child ever since — I don’t suppose he 
would part with her now for anything. I wanted 
liim to send her to the workhouse, but ’tis a jolly 
bright little soul, and I am glad he did not.” 

“ Then he is not married ?” 


MIGNON. 


63 


“ Oh dear no. lie pays a woinan fifty pounds 
a year to look after her, and all her meals go from 
tlie mess. In fact, he is bringing her up as if she 
were his own ; and the child adores him— simply 
adores him.” 

“I respect that man,” said the general, warm- 
ly. “ It is an awful thing for a child to be reared 
in a workhouse — awful.” 

“Yes; Booties feels very strongly on the sub- 
ject,” replied the colonel, absently. 

By the time Booties returned, the officers had 
risen from the table, and he met tlie guests and 
the seniora just entering the anteroom. 

“ I’ll shake hands with you. Captain Ferrers, if 
you please,” said the general, cordially. “ I agree 
with you that it is an awful thing for a child to 
be brought up in a workhouse. It is a subject 
upon which I feel very strongly — ^very strongly. 
A child reared as a pauper does not start the 
■world with a fair chance. I have met so often, 
in the course of my military experience, with re- 
cruits bred in the Unions — I never knew one do 
well. No; pauperism is ground into them, and 
they are never able to shake it off.” 

“Well, sir, that is my opinion,” said Booties, 
modestly. “ I hope, though, you won’t think my 


64 


IIIGXON. 


little maid is often so obtrusive as to-day. She 
is really always very good.” 

“ A charming little child,” replied the general, 
as if he meant it too, and then he shook hands 
with Booties again. 


MIGNON. 


C5 


Chapter Y. 

There was only one blot in the sweetness and 
light of Miss Mignon’s baby character, so far as 
the officei-s of the Scarlet Lancers were concerned. 
Among them all there was only one whom she 
did not like. She had degrees of love — Booties 
ranked first, then Lacy, then two or three groups 
of friends whom she liked best, better, and well ; 
but she had no degrees of dislike where she did 
not love. She hated, hated fiercely and furiously, 
hated with all her baby heart and soul. There 
were several pei-sons in her small world whom she 
detested thus, absolutely declining to hold com- 
munication or to accept overtures from them, how- 
ever sweetly made ; but there was only one of the 
ofiicers who came under this head, and he was 
Gilchrist, the man who had dubbed her at first 
workhouse brat. Miss Mignon could not endure 
liim. When old enough to understand that a cer- 
tain box of sweeties had come from Mr. Gilchrist, 
she would drop it as if it burned her fingers, draw 
4 


6G 


MIGNON. 


down the corners of her month, and remark, “ Miss 
Mignon is very much obliged;” an observation 
which invariably sent Booties and Lacy olf into 
fits of laughter, at wdiich the little maid would fly 
open-armed to him, and cry, “But Mignon loves 
Booties.” But the fact remained the same, that 
Miss Mignon detested Gilchrist, who, indeed, was 
not a favorite in the regiment. ISTor, indeed, did 
Gilchrist seem to like Miss Mignon any better, 
though he now and then brought his offerings of 
toys and bonbons like the rest. In the face of 
Booties’s severe snub about the two odious wmrds 
he had applied to her, he was hardly such a sim- 
pleton as to further rouse or annoy the most pop- 
ular man in the regiment ; yet if he could possibly 
cast a slur on Booties or on the child he did it. 
Never from his lips came the pet name “ Miss 
Mignon,” never did his black eyes rest on her 
without a sneer or a jibe; if he could by any 
chance twist Booties’s words into an admission 
that the child was really his, he took care never 
to lose the opportunity. 

“ Oh, come, now,” Preston cried one day, when 
he had been sneering at Booties and Lacy, who 
had just driven away with the child between them, 
“ Booties is a right good sort — no mistake on that 


MIGNON. 


67 


point. No sneaking lij^pocrisy about him. It 
would be well for you and me if we were half 
as fine chaps ; but we are not, Gilchrist, and, what 
is more, we never shall be.” 

“ Oh no ; but where is the mother of that brat ?” 

“How should I know? or Booties? I shouldn’t 
mind laying ray life tliat Booties never did and 
never will cause her or any other woman to write 
such a letter as came with the child that night. 
Jolly good thing for this one if she was Booties’s 
wife, instead of being tied up to the hound who 
bound her to secrecy and deserted her. Pcrliaps 
she’s dead, poor soul ! Who knows ?” 

“ Perhaps she isn’t,” Gilchrist sneered. “ Some 
people never die.” 

Good-natured and not very wise Preston stared 
at him, and Ilartog looked from behind his news- 
paper, aghast at the bitterness of his tone. 

“ Good heavens, Gilchrist !” Preston cried, “ are 
you wanting somebody to die ?” 

Gilchrist tried to laugh, and succeeded very 
badly. lie rose from his chair, knocking a few 
scattered cigar ashes carefully off his braided cuff. 

“ Well, I confess I should not be sorry to see 
that prating biut of Booties’s out of the road. 
We should perhaps get at tlic truth then.” And 


68 


MIGNON. 


liavilig delivered himself of this feeling speech, 
he went out, banging the door after him. 

“ Well, upon my soul !” exclaimed Preston. 

“ Oh, the man’s got a tile loose in his upper 
story,” said Hartog, decidedlj'. “ No man in his 
senses w'ould talk such miserable rot as that. Al- 
ways thought Gilchrist a crazy fool myself, but 
I’m sure of it now.” 

“ And how he sticks to it Miss Mignon is Boot- 
les’s own child — as if it could be any good for 
him to say she isn’t if she is.” 

“No.’ I shall tell Booties to keep an eye on 
Gilchrist. I say, what a comfort it would be if 
he would only exchange ! I suppose we can’t man- 
age to dazzle him with the delights of India, eh?” 

“Not very well. Besides, he lost ever so much 
seniority by coming to us.” 

“No such luck. It’s queer, though, he should 
be so persistent about Booties and Miss Mignon. 
I suppose he wants to daub Booties with some of 
his own mud. ’Thinks if he only throws enough, 
some of it’s sure to stick; and so it would with 
most men. Happil}^, however, it don’t in the least 
matter what a little cad like Gilchrist chooses to 
say about a man like Booties — a jealous little 
beast.” 


MIGNOJ^". 


69 


Neither of them said any more about the mat- 
ter, but Hartog took the earliest opportunity of 
repeating to Booties what “that ass Gilchrist” 
had said about seeing that prating brat of Boot- 
les’s out of the road, and in consequence a kind of 
watch was set upon the child. Not that Booties, 
though he had a very poor opinion of Gilchrist 
and Gilchrist’s brains, was afraid for a moment 
that he would give Miss Mignon poisoned bon- 
bons, or run off with her and drop her in the 
river ; yet he did think it not improbable that he 
might encourage an already dangerous spirit of 
adventure, and of course be absolutely blameless 
if she could get trampled by a horse’s cruel hoofs, 
or crushed by one of the many traps going in and 
out of barracks. 

AVhen Booties had taken his first long leave 
after Miss Mignon’s coming, he had left her at 
Idleminster in charge of her nui*se ; but when long 
leave came round again, and she must have been 
about two and a half, he decided to take her with 
him. One reason for this was certainly a fear of 
any pranks Gilchrist might choose to play, another 
that Lacy was taking his leave at the same time, 
and Booties was afraid, in the absence of both. 
Miss Mignon might fret herself into a fever. And, 


70 


MIGNON. 


besides, lie had missed the child during a fort- 
night’s deer-stalking in Scotland that autumn more 
than he would have liked to own. 

From Blankhampton, therefore, they went to his 
place, Ferrers Court, where he was to entertain a 
rather large party for Christmas, with a sister of 
his mother’s, and his only near relative, to do the 
honors for him, and among his guests a Mrs. Smith, 
a widow, and sister to that dead girl to whom he 
fancied a resemblance in Miss Mignon. However, 
at the last moment, Mrs. Smith wrote to excuse 
herself. 

“ I am very, very sorry,” she said, “ but a very 
dear friend of mine, with whom I spent two win- 
ters in Italy, has suddenly appeared, with a travel- 
ling companion and two maids, to pay me a long- 
promised visit of at least two months. She is a 
Kussian countess — a widow like myself, and wishes, 
I fancy, to improve her English, which she already 
speaks very well. Of course I am dreadfully dis- 
appointed, but cannot help it.” 

Isow it happened that Booties had a very deep 
and great respect and liking for Mrs. Smith, and 
not for all the widowed countesses in Russia was 
he willing to upset his plans : therefore he wrote 
off at once to Mrs. Smith, after a five minutes’ con- 


MIGNON. 


71 


saltation with Lady Marion, to beg her to carry 
oat her original intentions, and bring Madame and 
lier retinae “along.” Woald she telegraph her 
reply ? 

Mrs. Smith did so, the reply being, Yes. More- 
over, she sapplemented the telegram by a letter, 
in which she mentioned among other things that 
Madame Goarbolska’s travelling companion mast 
be treated in all ways as an ordinary gaest. 

So, at the time originally appointed for Mrs. 
Smith’s coming, the party of six — three ladies and 
three maids — arrived. Booties himself went to 
the station to meet them. lie foand that Madame 
Goarbolslca- was young, not more than thirty, of 
the plump and fair Russian type, quite fair enough 
to hold her own beside Mrs. Smith, whom he re- 
garded as the most beautiful woman of his ac- 
quaintance. The third lady. Miss Grace, was fair 
also, perhaps not so positively beautiful as either 
the English or the Russian lady, but fair -haired, 
fair -skinned, with soft blue -gray eyes, intensely 
blue in some lights, as Booties noticed directly. 
Graceful she was to a degree, and as he watched 
her move across the little station he thought how 
wonderfully her name suited her. 

Mrs. Smith smiled at him as he helped her to 


72 


MIGNOX. 


mount to tlie top of the omnibus. “Is not the 
likeness wonderful ?” she said, with one of those 
quick sighs with which we speak of our dead ; and 
then she said, “ Poor Kosy.” 

Booties turned and looked at Miss Grace again, 
his mind going back to those dark days, past and 
gone now, when he and his best friend had been 
estranged for honor’s sake; when he and this im- 
perially beautiful woman had stood side by side 
watching a young life die out ; had together seen 
the sacrifice of a heart, the martyr of love to man. 

“ Yes, it is very great,” he said, briefly. 

That dead sister of Mrs. Smith had always been 
and would always be a not- to-be-broken bond of 
union between them, for the widow knew how 
gladly “ that grand Booties,” as she always called 
him, would have tried to make up for the love she 
had lost, while to Booties Mrs. Smith stood out 
from the rest of womankind as the sister of the 
only woman ho had ever wished or asked to mar- 
ry him. 

He helped Miss Grace up to the seat beside 
Mri Smith, and took his own place beside the 
Russian lady, who entertained him very well dur- 
ing the three miles’ drive between Eagles Station 
and Ferrers Court. 


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4- 



MIGNON. 


75 


“ Oh, but what a paradise !” she sried, as the 
carriage turned into the court-yard. 

“I am delighted that it pleases you,” he an- 
swered, glancing round to see what effect Iiis an- 
cestral home had upon Miss Grace. 

“ Lovely !” she murmured to Mrs. Smitli. 

In another moment they had drawn up at the 
great Gothic door- way, and immediately the figure 
of a little child dressed in white appeared on the 
top of the broad steps, kissing her small hands in 
token of welcome. 

“ Go in directly ; you’ll get cold. Go in, I say,” 
Booties called out. It was, indeed, bitterly cold, 
and a few flakes of snow were falling. But Miss 
Mignon had a budget of news for her Booties, and 
was not to be done out of telling it. 

“Lai has had a letter from home,” she piped 
out in her shrill voice. Lai was her name for 
Lacy, and home meant Blankhampton Barracks. 
“ And the St. Bernard has gotted two puppies — 
beauties — and I’m to have one. Lai says so. And 
Terry has broked his leg.” Terry was one of 
Booties’s grooms. “ And Major Ally’s going to be 
married ” 

Booties was so surprised that he forgot the cold 
and his order that Miss Mignon should go in. 


76 


MIGNON. 


“TFAa^/” lie exclaimed, incredulously. 

Just then Lacy himself came to the top of the 
steps with open arms, so to speak, and carried olf 
Mrs. Smith into the house. Miss Mignon took ad- 
vantage of the opportunity to run down the steps 
just as Booties helped Madame Gourbolska to the 
ground. 

“I welcome you with much pleasure,” he said, 
cordially — “ Miss Grace also,” as he gave her his 
hand to jump the last step. “ I am afraid you are 
tired. You are very white.” 

“ I am tired,” she said, in a low voice, not look- 
ing at him, but at the child. 

“ It is so bitterly cold. Don’t stand a moment. 
Mignon, will you go in ?” 

Miss Mignon skipped up the steps, and the Rus- 
sian lady caught her in her arms. 

“ Oh, you little angel ! and what is your name ?” 

“ I’m Miss Mignon. Y^ou’rc a very pretty lady,” 
returned Mignon, critically. “ I wanted to go to the 
station, but Booties said it was too cold, and Lai — ” 

“ Madame does not know what Booties and Lai 
mean,” interrupted Booties. 

“ This is Booties, and that’s Lai,” Miss Mignon 
informed her. “ I’m Miss Mignon, and I belong 
to Booties.” 


MIGNON. 


77 


“ Oh, you belong to Booties. I am sure he must 
be very proud of you,” Madame answered. 

“I believe I’m a great bother to him,” Miss 
Mignon announced, in a matter-of-fact tone. 

Booties laughed. “ Come to the fire, Madame,” 
he said. Then turning to Miss Grace, “ I’m sure 
you are very cold — you are as white as a ghost. 
I’m sure,” addressing Lady Marion, “Aunt Mar- 
ion, wine would be much better than this tea.” 

“ No, no ; tea,” they cried — at least the two el- 
der ladies, for Miss Grace seemed to have no ears 
for any one but the child. 

“Won’t you speak to me?” she asked, presently, 
as Miss Mignon gravely regarded her with her big 
blue eyes. 

Miss Mignon went close to her immediately. 
“ Did Booties let you drive ?” she asked, with in- 
terest. 

Miss Grace shook • her head, and lifted Miss 
Mignon onto her knee. “I did not ask him,” she 
said. 

Oh !” Then, after a pause, “ I al — ways do.” 

“But not a pair?” in surprise. 

Miss Mignon nodded. “ When they’re not too 
fresh. Booties would liave letted you, if you’d 
asked him.” 


78 


MIGNON. . 


“ I will another time.” 

“ Lac3',” said Booties, suddenly, is it true about 
Allardyce?” 

“ Hartog says so. They say she — er — dwrinks 
like a duck.” 

“ Pooh !” But Booties laughed as if it was a great 
joke, and Mrs. Smith begged to be enlightened. 

“ Oh ! don’t you remember Allardyee ? He’s 
the great military teetotal light.” 

“And — er — he wreally is an awful duf-fah,” 
remarked Miss Mignon, in so exact and so uncon- 
scious an imitation of Lacy’s drawl that her hearers 
went off into fits of laughter, and Miss Grace, clasp- 
ing her close to her breast, bent, and kissed the lux- 
uriant golden curls. 

, “ You’re crying,” said Miss Mignon, promptly, 
scanning Miss Grace’s face with her big eyes. 

“ No ; but you made me laugh,” she said, has- 
tily. . . 

“ Some people do cry when they laugh,” Miss 
Mignon informed her. “ Our colonel does. Now 
Major Garnet alwa^^s chokes, and then Booties 
thumps him. I don’t know what he’ll do,” she 
added, in a tone of deep concern, “ if he chokes 
while we are away.” 

“I never saw such an original little piece of 


MIGNON. 


79 


mischief in my life,” cried Mrs. Smith. “ And how 
charmingly dressed — is she not, Madame ? So sen- 
sible of you to cover her up with that warm serge 
up to her throat aud down to her wrists. Who 
put 3 'ou up to it ?” 

“ I fancy we evolved the idea among us. You 
see she runs in and out of my rooms, her own, and 
Mrs. Gray’s, the adjutant’s wife, that is,” Booties 
answered. “And barrack corridors are not ex- 
actly hot-liouses. Besides, our doctor keeps his 
eye on her, and he blames the wrapping-up for her 
never having a day’s illness.” 

“ I believe in it,” asserted Mrs. Smith, 

“ And 1 — oh ! our married ladies tell me I am 
quite an authority on the subject. I can tell 
you we get fearfully cliaffcd about her, Lacy 
and I.” 

“ Why ?” Miss Grace asked. 

“ Well, because she goes about with us a good 
deal, and people seem to find the situation difficult 
to understand.” He took it for granted that she 
knew all about Miss Mignon, and she did not press 
the question further. But half an hour later, when 
Mrs. Smith was tliinking of dressing, Miss Grace 
tapped at her door and entered. 

“Could you lend me a few black pins?” she 


80 


MIGNON. 


asked. “ Madame and I have both forgotten 
them.” 

“ Certainly, my dear — take the box.” 

But Miss Grace only took a few in the pink palm 
of her hand. 

“ What a pretty child that is !” she said, care- 
lessly. “ Did the mother die when it was born ?” 

“Oh, my dear!” cried Mrs. Smith, “she is not 
Captain Ferrers’s child. No relation whatever.” 

“No? Whose, then?” 

“ Ah ! That is a question.” Then she briefly 
told Miss Mignon’s history, ending : “ But he will 
never part with her now. He is so fond of her, 
and she adores him.” 

“He is a flne fellow,” said Miss Grace, toying 
with the pins in her hand. 

“A flne fellow! lie is a splendid character,” 
Ml’S. Smith cried, warmly. “I assure you I have 
studied that man — and I have known him for 
years — and I cannot find a fault in him. Years 
ago, when we were in great trouble, my mother and 
I, at the time my sister died, oh, he was so good, 
so — well,” with a quick sigh, “ I cannot explain it 
all, but he was such a comfort to ns, and she died, 
poor darling, under very painful circumstances, 
especially for me. Oh, there are very few in the 


MIGNON. 


81 


world like him — not one in ten thousand. Take 
his action as regarded that dear little child, for in- 
stance. Ilis brother officers wanted him to send 
her to the workhouse, but as he wrote to me, ‘Some 
day I may meet the mother, and how should I face 
her?’ ” 

“Ah!” murmured Miss Grace, and Mrs. Smith 
went on. 

“ It was no small undertaking for a man in his 
position, for he has not left her to the entire care 
of servants — she is continually with him and Mr. 
Lacy, who is also very fond of her. Do you know, 
he pays her nurse fifty pounds a year. In fact, 
she is just as if she were really his own child. But 
it is just like him.” 

“And they would have sent her to the work- 
house ?” 

“ One or two of them — not Mr. Lacy, of course.” 

Miss Grace was silent for a few moments. Then 
she roused herself as from a brown-study. 

“ Well, I am detaining you, Mrs. Smith, and shall 
be late myself. Thank you very much.” Tlien 
she went away, passing softly down the corridor, 
and entered her room, locking the door behind her. 
But onee in that safe shelter she flung the pins on 
the table and dropped upon her knees, burying her 


82 


MIGNOX. 


face in her hands, while the scalding tears forced 
their way between her fingers, and the great sobs 
shook her frame. “ ‘ Some day he might meet the 
mother,’ she sobbed, ‘ and how sIioitM he face her V 
Oh, my child, my little child, how shall I face him ? 
How shall I bear it ? How shall I live in the same 
house with him without falling on my knees and 
blessing him for saving my little child from — God 
knows what?” 



LACY WAS OCCUPIED IN MAKING DESPERATE LOVE TO THE RUSSIAN LADY. 





MIGNON. 


85 


Chaptek VI. 

A MONTH had passed, and the three ladies still 
remained at Ferrers Court, though other visitors 
had come and gone, lots of them. Lacy was still 
there also, and occupied in making desperate love 
to the Russian lady, utterly ignoring two important 
facts — one that she only laughed at him, the other 
that she was three years his senior. 

But while all this was going on. Booties had fall- 
en in love at last, as men and women only fall 
once in their lives, and of course the lady was 
Madame Gourbolska’s friend. Miss Grace — had he 
but known it, the mother of Mignon. 

But Booties never suspected that for a moment. 
True, there was a likeness so strong as to proclaim 
the truth, and many a, time Miss Grace wondered, 
when she caught sight of the child’s face and her 
own in a glass, that all these people did not see it. 
Yet neither Booties nor any one else did see it, 
and the game of love was played on with desper- 
ate earnestness on his side, and with equally des- 
perate desire to prevent it on hers. 


86 


MIGNON. 


Blit Booties admired shy game, and Miss Grace’s 
evident shyness made him only the more earnest ; 
and not being troubled with that faint heart which 
never won fair lad}’^, he had no intention of allow- 
ing Madame Gonrbolska to depart from beneath 
his roof without asking Miss Grace to return to it as 
its mistress. Therefore one afternoon, when he re- 
turned from hunting in much bespattered pink, and 
went into the fire-lit library, where he found Miss 
Grace half dreaming by the fire, he shut the door 
with the intention of getting it over at once. Miss 
Grace rose with some signs of confusion. 

“ Don’t go for a minute,” said Booties ; “ I want 
to speak to you. It seems to me that you have 
grown very fond of my little Mignon. Is it not 
so?” 

Miss Grace caught at the carvings of the oaken 
chimney-shelf to steady herself, and her heart be- 
gan to beat hard and fast.. 

“ Yes, I am very fond of her,” she stammered. 

“ I wish yon would take her for your own,” Boot- 
ies said, very gently. 

“For — my own?” sharply. “What do you 
mean ?” 

For a moment she thought he knew all, but 
his next words undeceived her. 


MIGNON. 


87 


“ If slie liad such a mother as you, poor little 
motherless waif, and if I had such a wife, and if 
Ferrers Court had such a mistress ! Oh ! don’t you 
understand what I mean ?” taking her hand. 

Miss Grace snatched the hand away. “Oh, 
don’t, dorCt^ don’t 1” she said, turning away. 

But Booties possessed himself of it again. 
“ Must I tell you more ? Oh, my darling, how 
from the very first day I ever saw you I loved you 
with all my heart and soul % How, when I bade you 
welcome to my house, I could, and would if I had 
dared, have taken you up to my heart and kissed 
you before every one % How—” 

“ Oh, tell me nothing — nothing !” she cried, with 
feverish haste. “ Don’t you understand it cannot 
be ? it is impossible — quite impossible.” 

“Impossible !” he echoed, blankly. “ Why is it 
impossible? Not because you don’t care, that I’ll 
swear.” 

She said nothing. 

“ Or, if that is so, look at me and say I don’t 
love you.” 

But Miss Grace did not speak, nor yet did slie 
' look. 

“ Or will you tell me that there is some one 


88 


MIGNON. 


else whom you like better?” lie asked, regaining 
hope. 

No, Miss Grace did not seem inclined to vouch- 
safe that information either. 

“ Or that the cai-e of the child would be an ob- 
jection ?” ■ . 

“ No r she burst out, in an agonized tone. 

• “Then what do you mean by impossible?” he 
asked. “ It seems to me very possible indeed.” 

She looked at him — that proud, handsome, erect 
man, with a smile of expectant happiness on his 
good face — and tried to take her hands away. 

“ Oh !” she sobbed out, “ don’t you think I would 
if I could ? I have not been so happy that I would 
throw away such happiness as you could give me. 
Some day you may know what it costs me to tell 
you that it is quite impossible.” 

“You give me no hope?” he asked, in a dull 
voice, and she saw that he had grown white to 
his very lips. 

“None,” she returned; then added, bitterly, 
“ Oh, hope and I have had nothing to say to one 
another this long, long while.” 

Booties dropped her hand listlessly. “ Then it 
is no use my boring you,” he said, turning away. 



THEN WITH ONE IMPLORING BACKWARD LOOK SHE WENT AWAY AND LEFT HIM 

ALONE. 





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MIGNON. 


91 


A fierce denial rose to the girl’s lips, but she 
choked it down and suffered his words in silence. 
Then meekly, and with one imploring backward 
look at his tall figure as he stood, his head well 
up in spite of his defeat, looking into tlie fire, she 
went away and left him alone. 


93 


MIGNON. 


Chapter VII. 

So it was all over. This was the end of all his 
hopes and dreams and wishes ! This was the end ! 
None of his bright hopes would ever be — none of 
his golden dreams would come to pass. His wish- 
es had no weight with the woman he loved. He 
had looked forward — like a fool, he thought, bit- 
terly — and had pictured her in a dozen different 
ways : at the liead of his table, in the hunting- 
field, in the middle age, and in the decline of life, 
as Mignon’s mother, as his wife. But it was all 
over now. When Madame’s visit was over, she 
would go from under his roof, never to come back 
to it any more, forever. 

lie was still standing there when the door 
opened with some difficulty, and Miss Mignon 
appeared on the threshold. 

“ Booties?” she said, inquiringly. 

Booties turned round to her. “Well?” he an- 
swered. 

Miss Mignon heard the misery in his voice and 
ran to him. “ Booties got a headache ?” she asked. 







MIGNON. 


95 


He dropped into a chair and took her in his 
arms. “ Such a headache, Mignon.” 

Miss Mignon knew what Booties’s headaches 
were, and drew his head down npon her small 
shoulder with an air of protecting and comfort- 
ing dignity, equally pretty and absurd in one so 
young. 

“ Mignon loves Booties,” she whispered. 

“ Will Mignon always love Booties ?” he asked. 

“ Always,” was the confident reply. “ Mignon 
will always love Booties.” 

And so in and because of his trouble the little 
child crept closer and closer into his heart, and 
drove out the greatest bitterness of his disappoint- 
ment, and the clasp of her soft arms about his 
neck seemed to take away the sharpest sting of 
defeat. The touch of her baby lips upon his 
aching forehead — and it did ache — brought him 
a larger measure of comfort than any living thing 
had power to do at that moment. 

If only he had known that Mignon was her 
child! 

But Booties was not the man to sulk with fate; 
if Miss Grace would not have him, no more was 
to be said, and no one but Mrs. Smith saw any- 
thing unusual between them. But trust Mrs. 


96 


MIGNON. 


Smith. She walked into Miss Grace’s room and 
taxed her with it — taxed her in so friendly a way 
that the girl began to ciy miserabl3\ Mrs. Smith 
filmed. 

“ It is absurd,” she cried, “ to refuse such a man 
— such a position — such — such — Oh ! it’s absurd. 
I have no patience with you. You will never have 
such a chance again — never.” 

“ Oh, never,” she sobbed. 

“Why, then, throw it away? Let me go and 
tell—” 

“ No ; tell him nothing. I have already told 
him it is impossible. Oh, Mrs. Smith !” she cried, 
passionately, “ do you think any woman in her 
senses would refuse him if she could help it? 
Not I, I assure you.” 

“ It is inexplicable,” said Mrs. Smith, but she 
protested no further. 

So the next day they left Ferrers Court, Booties 
driving them to the station. But it was all very 
different now — very different, too, from the last 
time he had driven them anywhere. There was 
no laughter, no joking, no promise to come again. 
He was not outwardly angry, not harsh nor hard 
in any way, but he was very polite; and politeness 
from him was heart-breaking. 


MIGNON. 


97 


It was soon over when they reached the sta- 
tion — a few minutes of that kind of conversation 
wliich people make when they are waiting for a 
carriage or a train, as they said the passengers of 
the London made while walking up and down 
quietly waiting for the end. There was a hand- 
shaking all round, the lifting of Booties’s and 
Lacy’s hats, a fuss over Miss Mignon, and that 
was all. Miss Grace, on looking out of the car- 
riage window with tear- dimmed eyes, saw that 
they were together, the child’s hand in his. Miss 
Mignon’s last words were yet ringing in her 
cars: “Booties has gotted such a headache.” 

“ Then Mignon must be very kind to him,” 
Miss Grace whispered. 

Ay, Miss Mignon had need to be kind, for Boot- 
ies had “ gotted ” such a heartache too ! 


MIGNON. 


Chapter VIIL 

A CROWD of roiiglis, a lesser crowd of third-rate 
spectators, and a lesser gathering of fashionable 
ones \vere assembled on the Blankhampton race- 
course, for it was the day of the Scarlet Lancer 
Steeple-chases. 

On the Grand Stand were to bo seen most of 
the rank and fashion of the neighborhood, and a 
goodly show of that class of people who are al- 
ways to be found about towns which are also 
military stations — the class of people who have 
daughters to marry, and not much money to mar- 
ry them with. 

There were all the Scarlet Lancer ladies in full 
force, from the colonel’s wife in blue velvet and 
sables, to the quartermaster’s lady in a liard felt 
hat, with long diamond and pearl ear-rings. There 
were officers in cords and boots, their silken finery 
hidden by Newmarket coats. And there was the 
bride, Mrs. Allardyce, in pink and gray, the major’s 
racing colors — oh lor ! as the fellows said when 


MIGJfON. 


99 


they saw her. And there was Miss Mignon, a lit- 
tle three-year-old belle, got up in Bootles’s colors 
—scarlet, purple, and gold — adapted in her small 
case to a warm frock of purple velvet, braided with 
scarlet and gold, and on her golden curls a jockey- 
cap to match it. Utterly absurd, most people 
said, but Booties didn’t seem to see it. Nor, for 
the matter of that, did Miss Mignon herself. 
Held by Booties, or, when Booties was riding, by 
Lacy, she sat on the broad ledge of the balcony 
and surveyed the world, like a queen in minia- 
ture. 

It was a fine place for seeing; yes, and a fine 
place for hearing too, as Lacy testified afterwards 
in his own peculiar style of delivery. 

“Er — I and Miss Mignon were waiting for 
Booties to come down the lawn, when — er — a 
laday next to us — er — a little nnpwrepossessing 
person — I found out afterwards that her name is 
Berwry — with a nose like a teapot - spoilt, and a 
month of the bull-dog ordah — little daughter, b}’- 
the-bj^e, pretty much of the same type, but just a 
shade less hideous — suddenly electwrified us by 
pulling out a huge pair of gold eye-glasses, and 
holding the wrace-card at arm’s-length. 

“‘Gw !’ said she, in a mincing voice, when Miles 


100 


MIGNON. 


came down the lane looking like a sack of flour in 
a purple satin jacket — ‘Ow, CAP-tain Ferwralis! 
0\v, Dorotli}^, my deah, CAP-tain Ferwrahs ! Vewry 
handsome — and how heau-WiwWy he wrides! Ow, 
I’m shaw he’ll win, and what a lovely horse ! Cap- 
tain Ferwrahs ! He’s vewry handsome.’ 

“Well — er — I gave Miss Mignon a gwreat 
squeeze to hold her tongue — and she did. This 
Mrs. — er — Berwry went on expatiating on Miles’s 
great beauty of person, and on the absolute certain- 
ty of his winning. ‘And his pet name is Booties,’ 
she informed us. Ills jpet name ! Well, pwres- 
cntly Booties came sailing down the lawn in all his 
glowry, and Miss Mignon quite forgot the old girl, 
and shouted out to him. ‘Booties,’ she called — 
‘ Booties.’ 

“Booties glanced up, and waved his hand, and 
— er — the old party called Berwry turned wround 
and eyed her sharply, saw the scarlet, purple, and 
gold of her dwress, looked at her card, and said, 
witheringly, ‘ Ow, I don’t know him^ as if there 
were a dozen Captain Ferwers knocking about, and 
this was one of the eleven she didn’t know. 

“Well, when the wrace was Over — er — who 
should come up but Miles. 

“ ‘ Ah, Miles,’ said I, ‘ I — er — heard a laday ex- 


MIGNON. 


101 


patiating just now on your extrwreme beauty and 
gwrace and elegance of person — was shaw you’d 
win. What a pity you didn’t !’ 

“ ‘ Bless my soul !’ said Miles ; ‘ was she pretty ?’ 

“ ‘ Oh, don’t be flattered ; she took you for Boot- 
ies,’ said I, ignoring the question. 

“ ‘ Booties’s money again !’ cwried Miles, with a 
gwreat wroar of laughter. 

“Well, in two twos up comes Booties. ‘See 
me win, Mignon ?’ said he. 

“ So I — er — told him the stowry too, and Boot- 
ies laughed that absurd ‘Ha! ha!’ of his. ‘Come 
along and have some lunch, Mignon, my sweet- 
heart,’ said he, ‘ and let'^s be out of this' ” 

But it was after this incident that the most im- 
portant event of that bright May day occurred; — 
one of tliosc fearful struggles to win, wlien half a 
dozen horses sliow well for the post, and all the 
field finds tongue and shouts its hardest. 

“Ferrers wins! Blue and fawn — yellow and 
black ! Miles wdns — Miles wins ! No, no ; Fei-rers 
in front — fawn and blue ! Hartog — Hartog — Har- 
tog wins ! Miles in front ! Ah, he’s down ! Fer- 
rers — Miles — blue and fawn — Gilchrist gains — 
Miles — Gilchrist — Ferrers wins — Ferrers wins! 
All up witli the others! Ferrers wins!” 


102 


MIGNON. 


And then the company, good, bad, and indiffer- 
ent, had time to remember that a man was down 
— no, not one man, but two. To find out that Har- 
tog was bruised and stunned, but able with help to 
get to the dressing-room and recover himself, to 
learn that the swarming crowd around the other 
was watching a more exciting race than that which 
they had just witnessed with shouts and applause, 
that they were M’atching with awe and in silence 
a race between life and death — for Gilchrist, the 
“odd” man of the regiment, the man who had been 
nobody’s friend, nobody’s chum, was lying in the 
midst of them with his back broken, waiting for a 
hurdle. 

They were all as sorry as men could be who had 
never been moved by feelings of friendship. The 
proceedings were stopped at once, and they went 
gravely back to barracks, those who had ridden, to 
get into morning-clothes, and all of them to hang 
about waiting for news. 

But there was no hope, absolutely no hope what- 
ever. With all his faults, failings, and peculiarities, 
Gavor Gilchrist was passing away from their midst 
by exchange, as Ilartog had once wished — the ex- 
change, not of one regiment for another, but of 
this world for the next. 


THK swarming crowd ROUND THE OTHER WAS WATCHING A MORE EXCITING RACK THAN THAT WHICH THEY 

HAD JUST WITNESSED. 








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MIGNON. 


105 


It was about six o’clock that the senior of the 
two surgeons in attendance on Gilchrist entered 
the anteroom, and, looking around, beckoned for 
Booties. 

“ Wliat news ?” asked several voices. 

“ He won’t last the night. Booties, he wants 
you.” 

“ I’ll come,” said Booties, rising. 

“ Sure to want Booties,” observed Preston. 

“ Oh yes ; I should myself,” returned another. 

“Won’t last the night,” remarked a third. 
“Well, I never did like Gilchrist — never; but, all 
the same, I’m deuced sorry for him now, poor chap. 
For oh, by Jove ! it’s a fearful thing when you 
come to that.” 

And then they fell into silence again, waiting for 
Booties to come back. Half an hour passed — three- 
quartei-s; then Booties did not come. An hour; 
then Booties appeared — came with a white face 
and a scared look in his blue eyes, followed by the 
doctor who had fetched him. Every man in the 
room w'as roused from a lounging attitude to one 
of expectation and surprise. 

“Booties,” said Lacy, moving towards him. 

But Booties did not even look at him. He turned 
to the doctor and uttered words the like of which 


106 


MIGNO^^ 


none of liis hearers had ever heard from him be- 
fore. 

“ I kept my temper, doctor — you think I did ? I 
know the man’s dying. Yes, I know, and I shouldn’t 
like to think I lost my temper with a poor chap who 
was dying, but — but — No; I won’t say a word. 
I’ll go away and keep to myself until I’ve got over 
it a little. If I stop here I shall say something I 
shall be sorry for all the rest of my, life.” 

“ What is it. Booties ?” broke in Lacy, in his soft 
voice. 

But Booties did not reply for a moment. He 
stood still, trying hard to control himself; but 
Lacy, who had laid his hand upon his sleeve, felt 
that he was shaking from head to foot, and his 
very lips were trembling. 

“Tell us,” said Lacy, persuasively. “What is 
it?” 

“ He is Mignon’s father !” Booties answered. 
And then he broke from Lacy’s grasp and fled. 

“ Impossible !” Lacy cried. 

“Not at all; it is true,” the doctor answered. 
“ He is making his will now, leaving Booties sole 
guardian and trustee to the child.” 

“The brute,” burst out Preston, indignantly, 
remembering Gilchrist’s words — not so long ago. 



A KACE BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH 







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MIGNON. • 


109 


“ Hush, husli ! Tlie man is dying, and death 
altei*s everything,” the doctor cried. 

“And Booties kept his temper? Said nothing?” 

“ Not one word — of reproach.” 

“ Has he seen her ?” 

“No. He would not, though Booties asked 
him.” 

“ His own child — and she Miss Mignon !” 

“All the better. She cannot endure him.” 

“ By Jove ! But what a blow for Booties !” 

“How will he take it? Will it make any dif- 
ference ?” 

“ As wregards Miss Mignon ? What wrot you 
talk. As if Booties — ” But tliere Lacy broke off 
in disgust, and the babel of surmises, questions, 
and answers went on. 

And that night Gavor Gilchrist died. 

6 


110 


MIGNON. 


CUAPTER IX. 

On, but it was a blow for Booties ! To find he 
had been duped, tricked, made a fool of all this 
time; to remember the anxiety, the trouble, the 
expense to which he had been put ; nay, to recall 
the chaff he had endured, and then to discover 
that Miss Mignon was Gilchrist’s child — the child 
of the man he went perhaps nearer to hating than 
any one he had ever known in all his life ! Every- 
thing came back to him then — the dead man’s 
jibes and sneers and taunts, his unwearied efforts 
to tax him with an offence which he knew he had 
not committed. And though he had failed in that, 
oh, what a fool Gilchrist had made of him ! That 
was the sting Booties felt most of anything. 

For hours, after he left the anteroom Booties 
kept out of every one’s w’ay — indeed until Lacy 
came to tell him that Gilchrist was dead. Then, 
it being close upon the hour of eleven, he went 
and knocked at the door of Mignon’s nursery. 
The nurse opened it a few inches, and seeing who 
it w^as, set it open wide. 


MIGNON. 


Ill 


“ Is Miss Mignon asleep V’ he asked. 

“Yes, sir; hours ago,” the woman answered. 

He passed into the inner room, where the child 
was lying. A candle burned on a table beside the 
cot, casting its light on the fair baby face, now 
flushed in sleep, and on the tangled golden curls. 
Both her arms lay outside the eider coverlet, one 
hand grasping tlie whip with which he had ridden 
and won that day, the other holding the card of the 
races. Booties bent and scanned her face closely, 
but not one trace could he discern of likeness to 
the father — not one — and he drew a deep breath 
of relief that it was so. 

Well he remembered Lacy’s puzzled scrutiny of 
the year-old baby. “There’s a likeness, but I 
don’t know where to plant it.” If there had been 
a likeness to Gilchrist then, it liad now passed 
away ; and as Booties satisfied himself that it was 
so, his love for her, which during tlie last few 
hours had hung trembling in the balance, though 
he would hardly have acknowledged it, even to 
himself, re-asserted itself, and rose up in' his heart 
stronger than ever. Just then she moved uneasily 
in her sleep. 

“Lai, where is Booties?” she asked. Then, 
after a pause, “Gotted another headache?” And 


112 


MIGNON. 


an instant later, “Miss Grace said Mignon was to 
be very kind to Booties.” 

Booties bent down and kissed her, and she 
awoke. 

“Booties,” she said, in sleepy surprise; then, 
imperatively, “ Take me up.” 

So Booties carried her to the fire in the adjoin- 
ing room, where the nurse was sewing a fresh frill 
of lace on the pretty velvet frock, witli its braid- 
ings of scarlet and gold, which she had worn that 
day. 

“ Lai said Mignon wasn’t to go to Booties,” she 
said, reproachfully. 

“Booties has been bothered, Mignon,” he an- 
swered. 

“ Poor Booties !” stroking his cheek with her 
soft hand. “ Booties was vexed ; Lai said so. But 
not with Mignon. Mignon told Lai so,” confi- 
dentl3\ 

“Never with Mignon,” answered Booties, rest- 
ing his cheek against the tossed golden curls, and 
feeling as if he had done this faithful baby heart 
a moral injustice by his hours of anger and doubt. 

There was a moment of silence, broken by the 
nurse. “ Have you heard, sir, how Mr. Gilchrist 
is ?” she asked. 


MIGNON. 


113 


Booties roused liimself. “ lie is dead, nurse. 
Died half an hour ago.” 

“Then, if you please, sir,” she asked, hesitat- 
ingl}^, “ might 1 ask if it is true about Miss Mign- 
on?” 

“ Yes, it is true,” his face darkening. 

“Because, sir. Miss Mignon should have mourn- 
ing,” she began, -when Booties cut her short. 

“I shall not allow her to wear mourning for 
Mr. Gilchrist,” he said, curtly; so the nurse dared 
say no more. 

Three days later the funeral took place ; and if 
the facts of the dead man’s having acknowledged 
Miss Mignon as his child, and having admitted to 
Booties that he had transferred her that night 
from his own quarters to Booties’s rooms, created 
a sensation, it was as nothing to the intense sur- 
prise caused by the will, which was read, by the 
dead man’s desire, before all the officers of the 
regiment. 

In it he left his entire property to his daughter, 
Mai-y Gilchrist, now in the care of Captain Fer- 
rers, and commonly known as Mignon, on condi- 
tion that Captain Ferrers consented to be her sole 
guardian and trustee until she had attained the 
age of twenty-one, or until her marriage, provided 


114 


MIGNON. 


it should be with her guardian’s sanction, and on 
the express understanding that Captain Ferrers 
should not give up the care of the child to her 
motlier, even temporarily. To his wife, Helen 
Gilchrist, a copy of this testament was to be sent 
forthwith. Should any of the conditions be vio- 
lated, the whole property of which he died pos- 
sessed should go to his cousin, Lucian Gavor Gil- 
christ ; but if the conditions be faithfully observed 
Captain Ferrers should have the power of applj"- 
ing any, or all, of the income arising from the 
estate for the use and maintenance of the said 
Mary Gilchrist. 

“ Cwrazy !” murmured Lacy to Booties, who 
listened in contemptuous silence, and wondered 
in no small dismay what kind of a life he should 
have if Mignon’s mother chose to make herself 
objectionable. 

But the will w'as not crazy at all ; far from it. 
It was only a very cleverl}’^ thought-out plan for 
keeping mother and child apart. Booties would 
take care not to endanger Mignon’s inheritance, 
and Gilchrist had taken advantage of it to carry 
out his animosity towards his wife to the bitter end. 

But of course there was one contingency he had 
never thought of or provided for — marriage. 


MIGNON. 


115 


It was less than a week after Gilclirist’s death 
that Booties received a note by hand, signed Helen 
Gilchrist. 

“ Already !” he groaned, impatiently. 

“ May I trouble you to send the child to sec me 
for half an hour during this afternoon ?” she said, 
and that was all. 

But Booties did not see sending the child to be 
quietly stolen away. He forgot quite that since 
Gilchrist had not left his widow a farthing she 
would probably be now no better able to provide 
for the child than she had been when compelled 
to cast her baby upon the father’s mercy. There- 
fore, immediately after lunch, he drove down to 
the hotel from whicli the note had been written. 
Yes; Mrs. Gilchrist was within — this way. And 
then — then — Booties, with the child fast holding 
his hand, was shown into a room, and there they 
found — Miss Grace! 

The truth flashed into his mind instantly. She 
rose hurriedly, and he saw that she was clad in 
black, but was not in widow’s dress. She fell 
upon her knees and almost smothered Mignon 
with kisses. 

“ Mignon ! Mignon !” she cried. 

“ Mignon has been very kind to Booties,” Mign- 


116 


MIGNON. 


on explained, not knowing whether to laugh or 
cry. 

“ My Mignon ! my baby !” the mother sobbed. 

Booties watched them — the two things he loved 
best on earth. 

“ Have you nothing to say to me ?” he asked at 
last. 

“ What shall I say ?” She had risen from her 
knees, and now moved shyly away. 

“ You might say,” said Booties, severely, “ that 
you are very sorry that you, a married woman, 
deceived me and stole my heart away. You might 
say that, for one thing.” 

“ But I am not sorry,” cried Mignon’s mother, 
audaciously. 

“ Then you might take a leaf out of Mignon’s 
book, and say, as she says when I have a head- 
ache, ‘ Mignon loves Booties.’ ” 

“I wreally do think,” remarked Lacy to the 
fellows, when the astounding news had been told 
and freely discussed, “that now we must let that 
poor, malicious, cwrooked- minded chap wrest in 
liis gwrave in peace. Seems to me,” he continued, 
with his most reflective air, “ that — er — Solomon 



ROOTLES WATCHED THEM — THE TWO THINGS HE LOVED BEST 

ON EARTH. 



I 



MIGNOX. 


119 


was wriglit, and said a vewry wise thing, when lie 
said, ‘ Love laughs at locksmiths.’ ” 

“ Solomon !” cried a voice, amid a shout of 
laughter. 

“ Oh, wasn’t it Solomon ?” questioned Lacj, 
mildly. “ It’s of no consequence ; some one said 
it. But only think of that poor devil spending 
his last moments wraising a barwrier to keep 
mother and child apart, and old Booties fulfils all 
the conditions to the letter, and bwreaks them all 
in the spirit by — marwriage !” 




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1 25; 
1 26; 


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PRIOR 

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'75 
25 
*75 
*75 
15 
60 
80 
60 
20 
20 
60 
25 
20 
10 
10 
20 
40 
20 
25 
35 
60 
60 
35 
20 
35 
60 
15 
60 
20 
15 
20 
40 
60 
60 
60 
20 
20 


1 25; 
1 25; 
1 26; 
1 26; 
1 25; 
1 26; 


25; 

25; 


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8vo, Paper 
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2 


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3 


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What will He do with it? 8vo, Paper 

Zanoni 8vo, Paper 

COLLINS’S (Wilkie) Novels. Ill’d Library Edition. 12mo, Cloth, per vol. 1 
After Dark, and Otlier Stores. — Antonina. — Armadale. — Basil. — 
Ilide-and-Seck. — Man and Wife. — My Miscellanies. — No Name. 

— Poor Miss Finch. — The Dead Secret. — The Law and the Lady. 

— The Moonstone. — The New Magdalen. — The Queen of Hearts. 

— Tlie Two Destinies. — The Woman in White. 

Antonina 8vo, Paper 

Armadale. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 

“ I Say No ”.16mo. Cloth, 50 cts. ; 16mo, Paper, 35 cts. ; 4to, Paper 

Man and Wife 4to, Paper 

My Lady’s Money 32mo, Paper 

No Name. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 

Percy and the Prophet 32 mo. Paper 

Poor Miss Finch. Illustrated 8vo, Cloth, $1 10; 8 vo. Paper 

The Law and the Lady. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 

The Moonstone. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 

The New Magdalen 8vo, Paper 

The Two Destinies. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 

The Woman in White. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 

CRAIK’S (Miss G. M.) Anne Warwick 8vo, Paper 

Dorcas 4to, Paper 

Fortune’s Marriage 4h), Paper 

Godfrey Ilelstone 4to, Paper 

Hard to Bear 8vo, Paper 

Mildred 8vo, Paper 


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Harper dt Brothers' Popular Novels. 


CRAIK’S (Miss G. M.) Sydney 4to, Taper $ 

Sylvia’s Choice 8vo, Paper 

Two Women 4to, Paper 

DICKENS’S (Charles) Works. Household Edition. Illustrated. 8vo. 

Set of 16 vols., Cloth, in box 22 


A Tale of Two Cities.Paper $ 60 
Cloth 1 00 

Barnaby Budge Paper 1 00 

Cloth 1 50 

Bleak House Paper 1 00 

Cloth 1 60 
Christmas Stories. ...Paper 1 00 
Cloth 1 60 
David Copperfield. . .Paper 1 00 
Cloth 1 60 

DombeyandSon Paper 1 00 

Cloth 1 60 
Great Expectations... Paper 1 00 
Cloth 1 60 

Little Dorrit Paper 1 00 

Cloth 1 60 
Martin Chuzzlewit.... Paper 1 00 


Martin Chuzzlewit Cloth 1 

Nicholas Nickleby Paper 1 

Cloth 1 

Oliver Twist Paper 

Cloth 1 

Our Mutual Friend Paper 1 

Cloth 1 

Pickwick Papers Paper 1 

Cloth 1 

Pictures from Italy, Sketches by 
Boz, American Notes ...Paper 1 
Cloth 1 

The Old Curiosity Shop. ..Paper '75 
Cloth 1 25 

Uncommercial Traveller, Hard 
Times, Edwin Drood... Paper 1 
Cloth 1 


15 
80 

16 

00 

60 

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60 

50 

00 

00 

50 

00 

60 

00 

60 


Pickwick Papers 4to, Paper 

The Mudfog Papers, &c 4to, Paper 

M)'stery of Edwin Drood. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 

Hard Times 8vo, Paper 

Mrs. Lirriper’s Legacy 8vo, Paper 

DE MILLE’S A Castle in Spain. Ill’d. 8vo, Cloth, $1 00 ; 8vo, Paper 

Cord and Creese. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 

The American Baron. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 

The Cryptogram. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 

The Dodge Club. Illustrated... .8 vo. Paper, 60 cents ; 8vo, Cloth 
The Living Link. Illustrated. ...8 vo. Paper, 60 cents ; 8vo, Cloth 

DISRAELI’S (Earl of Beaconsfield) Endyraion 4to, Paper 

The Young Duke 12mo, Cloth, $1 50 ; 4to, Paper 

EDWARDS’S (A. B.) Barbara’s History 8vo, Paper 

Debenham’s Vow. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 

Half a Million of Money 8vo, Paper 

Lord Brackenbury 4to, Paper 

Miss Carew' 8vo, Paper 

My Brother’s Wife 8vo, Paper 

EDWARDS’S (M. B.) Disarmed 4to, Paper 

Exchange No Robbery 4to, Paper 

Kitty 8 vo. Paper 

Pearla 4to, Paper 

ELIOT’S (George) Novels. Library Edition. Ill’d. 12mo, Cloth, per vol. 

Popular Edition. Illustrated 12mo, Cloth, per vol. 

Adam Bede. — Daniel Deronda, 2 vols. — FelLx Holt, the Radical. — 
Middlemarch, 2 vols. — Romola. — Scenes of Clerical Life, and 
Silas Maruer. — The Mill on the Floss. 


00 

60 

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Harper d: Brothers' Popular Novels. 


5 


ELIOT’S (George) Amos Barton 32mo, Paper $ 

Brother Jacob.— The Lifted Veil 32mo, Paper 

Daniel Deronda 8ro, Paper 

Felix Holt, the Radical 8vo, Paper 

Janet’s Repentance 32mo, Paper 

Middlemarch 8vo, Paper 

Mr. Gilfil’s Love Story 32mo, Paper 

Romola. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 

Silas Marner 12mo, Paper 

Scenes of Clerical Life 8vo, Paper 

The Mill on the Floss 8vo, Paper 

FARJEOX’S An Island Pearl. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 

At the Sign of the Silver Flagon 8vo, Paper 

Blade-o’-Grass. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 

Bread-and-Cheese and Kisses. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 

Golden Grain. Illustrated 8 vo, Paper 

Grif 8 VO, Cloth 

Great Porter Square 4 to. Paper 

Jessie Trim 8vo, Paper 

Joshua Marvel .* 8vo, Paper 

Love’s Victory 8vo, Paper 

Shadows on the Snow. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 

The Bells of Penraven 4to, Paper 

The Duchess of Rosemary Lane 8vo, Paper 

The King of No-Land. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 

GASKELL’S (Mrs.) Cousin Phillis 8vo, Paper 

Cranford 16mo, Cloth 


raioE 

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20 

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60 

60 

30 

25 

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40 

20 

30 

10 

35 

25 

20 

or. 


Wives and Daughters. I 
GIBBON’S (C.) A Hard Knot. 
A Heart’s Problem 


Heart’s 


A Laodicean. 


; 4to, Paper 

20 


75 


20 


1 60 


40 


60 


10 


20 


35 


30 


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35 


20 


35 


16 


20 


20 


35 


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.32mo, Paper 

20 


20 


C Harper c& Brothers' Popular Novels. 


PBIOB 

HARDY’S (Thos.) Romantic Adventures of a Milkmaid 4to, Paper $ 10 

HARRISON’S (Mrs.) Helen Troy 16mo, Cloth 1 00 

Golden Rod 32mo, Paper 25 

HAY’S (M. C.) A Dark Inheritance 32mo, Paper 15 

A Shadow on the Threshold 32mo, Paper 20 

Among the Ruins, and Other Stories 4to, Paper 15 

At the Seaside, and Other Storms 4to, Paper 15 

Back to the Old Home ! 32mo, Paper 20 

Bid Me Discourse ;..4to. Paper 10 

Dorothy’s Venture 4to, Paper 15 

For Her Dear Sake 4to, Paper 15 

Hidden Perils 8vo, Paper 25 

Into the Shade, and Other Stories 4to, Paper 15 

Lady Carmichael’s Will 32mo, Paper 15 

Lester’s Secret 4to, Paper 20 

Missing. 32mo, Paper 20 

My First Offer, and Other Stories 4to, Paper 1 5 

Nora’s Love Test 8vo, Paper 25 

Old Myddelton’s Money 8vo, Paper 25 

Reaping the Whirlwinxl 32mo, Paper 20 

The Arundel Motto 8vo, Paper 25 

The Sorrow of a Secret 32mo, Paper 15 

The Squire’s Legacy 8vo, Paper 25 

Under Life’s Key, and Other Stories 4to, Paper 15 

Victor and Vanquished 8vo, Paper 25 

HOEY’S (Mrs. C.) A Golden Sorrow 8vo, Paper 40 

All or Nothing 4 to. Paper 15 

Kate Cronin’s Dowry 32mo, Paper 15 

The Blossoming of an Aloe 8vo, Paper 30 

The Lover’s Creed 4to, Paper 20 

The Question of Cain 4to, Paper 20 

HUGO’S (Victor) Ninety-Three. Ill’d. 12mo, Cloth, $1 75 ; 8 vo. Paper 25 

The Toilers of the Sea. Ill’d 8vo, Cloth, 1 50 ; 8vo, Paper 50 

JAMES’S (Henry, Jun.) Daisy Miller 32mo, Paper 20 

An International Episode 32mo, Paper 20 

Diary of a Man of Fifty, and A Bundle of Letters 32mo, Paper 25 

J7ie four above-mentioned works in one volume 4to, Paper 25 

Washington Square. Illustrated 16mo, Cloth 1 26 

JOHNSTON’S (R. M.) Dukesborough Tales. Illustrated 4to, Paper 25 

Old Mark Langston 16mo, Cloth 1 00 

LANG’S (Mrs.) Dissolving Views. ..16mo, Cloth, 50 cents ; 16mo, Paper 35 

LAWRENCE’S (G. A.) Anteros 8vo, Paper 40 

Brakespeare 8vo, Paper 40 

Breaking a Butterfly 8vo, Paper 35 

Guy Livingstone l2mo. Cloth, $1 50 ; 4to, Paper 10 

Hagarene 8vo, Paper 35 

Maurice Dering 8vo, Paper 25 

Sans Merci 8vo, Paper 36 

Sword and Gown 8vo, Paper 20 


Harper <& Brothers' Popular Novels. 


7 


LEVER’S (Charles) A Day’s Ride 

Barrington 

Gerald Fitzgerald 

Lord Kilgobbin. Illustrated 8vo, Cloth, $1 00; 

One of Them 

Roland Cashel. Illustrated 

Sir Brook Fosbrooke. 

Sir Jasper Carew 

That Boy of Norcott’s. Illustrated 

The Bramleighs of Bishop’s Folly 

The Daltons 

The Fortunes of Glencore 

The Martins of Cro’ Martin 

Tony Butler 

LILLIE’S (Mrs. L. C.) Prudence. Ill’d. 16ino, Cloth, 90 cts 

McCarthy’s (Justin) Comet of a Season 

Donna Quixote 

Maid of Athens 

My Enemy’s Daughter. Illustrated 

The Commander’s Statue 

The Waterdale Neighbors 

MACDONALD’S (George) Alec Forbes 

Annals of a Quiet Neighborhood 

Donal Grant 

Guild Court 

Warlock o’ Glenwarlock 

Weighed and Wanting 

MULOCK’S (Miss) A Brave Lady. Ill’d. 12mo, Cl., 90 cents. 

Agatha’s Husband. Ill’d 12mo, Cloth, 90 cents ; 

A Legacy 

A Life for a Life 12mo, Cloth, 90 cents; 

A Noble Life 

Avillion, and Other Tales 

Christian’s Mistake 

Hannah. Illustrated 12mo, Cloth, 90 centsj 

Head of the Family. Ill’d 12mo, Cloth, 90 cents ; 

His Little Mother 1 2mo, Cloth, 90 cents; 

John Halifax, Gentleman. Illustrated 

g \ 1 2mo, Cloth, 90 cents ; 

Miss Tommy.... 12mo, Cloth, 90 cents; 

Mistress and Maid 12mo, Cloth, 90 cents; 

My Mother and I. Illustrated.. 12mo, Cloth, 90 cents ; 

Nothing New 

Ogilvies. Illustrated 12mo, Cloth, 90 cents; 

Olive. Illustrated 12mo, Cloth, 90 cents ; 

The Laurel Bush. Ill’d 1 2mo, Cloth, 90 cents ; 

The Woman’s Kingdom. Ill’d. . . 12rao, Cloth, 90 cts. ; 
Two Marriages 


PRTOK 


40 


40 

8vo, Paper 

50 


60 


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60 


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32mo, Paper 

15 


85 


60 

.12mo, Cloth 1 

26 

20 


40 


20 


20 

; 8vo, Paper 

60 

8vo, Paper 

35 

.12mo, Cloth 

90 

8vo, Paper 

40 

.12mo, Cloth 

90 


60 

.12mo, Cloth 

90 

8vo, Paper 

35 

8vo, Paper 

60 

4 to. Paper 

10 


60 

4to, Paper 

15 

Paper 

60 

8vo, Paper 

8 VO, Paper 

30 

40 


30 

8vo, Paper 

35 

8 VO, Paper 

35 

8vo, Paper 

25 

8 VO, Paper 

60 

.12mo, Cloth 

90 


8 


Harper Brothers' Popular Novels. 


PBIOE 

MULOCK’S (Miss) Unkind Word, and Other Stories 12mo, Cloth $ 90 

Young Mrs. Jardine 12mo, Cloth, $1 25; 4to, Paper 10 

MURRAY’S (D. C.) A Life’s Atonement 4to, Paper 20 

A Model Father 4to, Paper 10 

By the Gate of the Sea 4to, Paper, 15 cents ; 12mo, Paper 15 

Hearts 4to, Paper 20 

The Way of the World 4to, Paper 20 

Val Strange 4to, Paper 20 

NORRIS’S (W. E.) A Man of His Word, &c 4to, Paper 20 

Heaps of Money 8 vo. Paper 15 

Mademoiselle de Mersac 4 to. Paper 20 

Matrimony 4to, Paper 20 

No New Thing 4to, Paper 25 

That Terrible Man 

Thirlby Hall. Illustrated 4to, Paper 25 

OLIPH ANT’S (Laurence) Altlora Peto . 4to, Paper, 20 cts. ; 1 6mo, Paper 20 

Piccadilly ICmo, Paper 25 

OLIPHANT’S (Mrs.) Agnes 8vo, Paper 60 

A Son of the Soil 8vo, Paper 60 

Athelings 8yo, Paper 60 

Brownlows 8vo, Paper 60 

CaritA Illustrated 8vo, Paper 60 

Chronicles of Carlingford 8vo, Paper 60 

Days of My Life 12mo, Cloth 1 60 

For Love and Life 8vo, Paper 60 

Harry Joscelyn 4to, Paper 20 

He That Will Not when He May 4to, Paper 20 

Hester 4to, Paper 20 

Innocent. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 60 

It was a Lover and His Lass 4to, Paper 20 

Lady Jane 4to, Paper 10 

Lucy Crofton 12mo, Cloth 1 60 

Madam 16mo, Cloth, '75 cents ; 4to, Paper 25 

Madonna Mary 8vo, Paper 60 

Miss Marjoribanks 8vo, Paper 60 

Mrs. Arthur 8vo, Paper 40 

Ombra 8vo, Paper 60 

Phoebe, Junior 8vo, Paper 35 

Sir Tom 4to, Paper 20 

Squire Arden 8vo, Paper 60 

The Curate in Charge 8vo, Paper 20 

The Fugitives 4to, Paper 10 

The Greatest Heiress in England 4to, Paper 10 

The Ladies Lindores IGmo, Cloth, $1 00; 4to, Paper 20 

The Laird of Norlaw 12mo, Cloth 1 60 

The Last of the Mortimers 12rao, Clotli 1 60 

The Perpetual Curate 8vo, Paper 60 

The Primrose Path 8vo, Paper 60 

The Story of Valentine and his Brother 8vo, Paper 50 


Harper & Brothers' Popular Novels. 


9 


OLIPIIANT’S (Mrs.) The Wizard’s Son 4to, Paper $ 25 

Within the Precincts 4to, Paper 15 

Youn^ Musgrave 8vo, Paper 40 

PAYN’S (James) A Beggar on Horseback 8vo, Paper 35 

A Confidential Agent 4to, Paper 15 

A Grape from a Thorn 4to, Paper 20 

A Woman’s Vengeance 8vo, Paper 35 

At Her Mercy 8vo, Paper 30 

Bred in the Bone ,8vo, Paper 40 

By Proxy 8vo, Paper 35 

Carlyon’s Year 8vo, Paper 25 

For Cash Only 4 to, Paper 20 

Found Dead 8vo, Paper 26 

From Exile 4to, Paper 16 

Gwendoline’s Harvest 8vo, Paper 26 

Halves 8vo, Paper 30 

High Spirits 4to, Paper 15 

Kit. Illustrated 4to, Paper 20 

Less Black than We’re Painted 8vo, Paper 35 

Murphy’s Master 8 vo, Paper 20 

One of the Family ' 8vo, Paper 25 

The Best of Husbands 8vo, Paper 25 

The Canon’s Ward. Illustrated 4to, Paper 25 

The Talk of the Town 4to, Paper 20 

Thicker than Water 16mo, Cloth, $1 00; 4 to. Paper 20 

Under One Roof 4to, Paper 15 

Walter’s Word 8vo, Paper 60 

What He Cost Her 8vo, Paper 40 

Won — Kot Wooed 8vo, Paper 30 

READE’S Novels : Household Edition. Ill’d 12mo, Cloth, per vol. 1 00 

A Simpleton and Wandering Heir. 

A Terrible Temptation. 

A Woman-Hater. 

Foul Play. 

Good Stories. 

Griffith Gaunt. 

Hard Cash. 


It is Never Too Late to Mend. 
Love me Little, Love me Long. 
Peg Woffington, Christie John- 
stone, &c. 

Put Yourself in His Place. 

The Cloister and the Hearth. 
White Lies. 


A Perilous Secret 12mo, Cloth, *75 cents ; 4to, Paper 20 

16mo, Paper 40 

A Hero and a Mart 3 T 8vo, Paper 15 

A Simpleton 8vo, Paper 30 

A Terrible Temptation. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 25 

A Woman-Hater. Ill’d 8vo, Paper, 30 cents ; 12mo, Paper 20 

Foul Play 8vo, Paper 30 

Good Stories of Man and Other Animals. Illustrated. ..4to, Paper 20 

Griffith Gaunt. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 30 

Hard Cash. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 35 

It is Never Too Late to Mend 8vo, Paper 35 

Jack of all Trades 16mo, Paper 15 


10 Harper & Brothers' Popular Novels. 


mioB 

READE’S (Charles) Love Me Little, Love Me Long 8vo, Paper $ 30 

Mnltuin in Parvo. Illustrated 4to, Paper 15 

Peg Woffington, &c 8vo, Paper 35 

Put Yourself in His Place. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 35 

The Cloister and the Hearth 8vo, Paper 35 

The Coming Man 32mo, Paper 20 

The Jilt 32mo, Paper 20 

The Picture 16mo, Paper 15 

The Wandering Heir. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 20 

White Lies 8vo, Paper 30 

ROBINSON’S (F. W.) A Bridge of Glass 8vo, Paper 30 

A Fair Maid 4to, Paper 20 

A Girl’s Romance, and Other Stories 8vo, Paper 30 

As Long as She Lived 8vo, Paper 60 

Carry’s Confession 8vo, Paper 50 

Christie’s Faith 12mo, Cloth 1 75 

Coward Conscience 4to, Paper 15 

For Her Sake. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 60 

Her Face was Her Fortune 8vo, Paper 40 

Lazarus in London 

Little Kate Kirby. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 60 

Mattie: a Stray 8vo, Paper 40 

No Man’s Friend 8vo, Paper 60 

Othello the Second 32mo, Paper 20 

Poor Humanity 8vo, Paper 60 

PoorZeph! 32mo, Paper 20 

Romance on Four Wheels 8vo, Paper 15 

Second-Cousin Sarah. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 60 

Stern Necessity 8vo, Paper 40 

The Barmaid at Battleton 32mo, Paper 15 

The Black Speck 4 to. Paper 10 

The Hands of Justice 4 to. Paper 20 

The Man She Cared For 4to, Paper 20 

The Romance of a Back Street 32mo, Paper 15 

True to Herself 8vo, Paper 60 

ROE’S (E. P.) Nature’s Serial Story. Illustrated Square 8vo, Cloth 5 00 

Gilt Edges 5 25 

RUSSELL’S (W. Clark) Auld Lang Sync 4to, Paper 10 

A Sailor’s Sweetheart 4to, Paper 15 

A Sea Queen 16mo, Cloth, $1 00; 4to, Paper 20 

An Ocean Free Lance 4to, Paper 20 

Jack’s Courtship 16mo, Cloth, 1 00; 4to, Paper 25 

John Holdsworth, Chief Mate 4to, Paper 20 

Little Loo 4to, Paper 20 

My Watch Below 4 to, Paper 20 

On the Fo’k’sle Head 

Round the Galley Fire 4to, Paper 16 


Wreck of the “Grosveuor” 8vo, Paper, 30 cents; 4to, Paper 15 


Harper & Brotherz' Popular Hovels. 1 1 


SCOTT’S Novels. See Waverlei/ Novels. 

SHERWOOD’S (Mrs. John) A Transplanted Rose 12mo, Cloth $1 00 

TABOR’S (Eliza) Eglantine 8vo, Paper 40 

Hope Meredith 8vo, Paper 35 

Jeanie’s Quiet Life 8vo, Paper 30 

Little Miss Primrose 4to, Paper 15 

Meta’s Faith 8vo, Paper 35 

The Blue Ribbon 8vo, Paper 40 

The Last of Her Line 4to, Paper 15 

The Senior Songman 4to, Paper 20 

THACKERAY’S (Miss) Bluebeard’s Keys 8vo, Paper 35 

Da Capo 32mo, Paper 20 

Miscellaneous Works 8vo, Paper 90 

Miss Williamson’s Divagations 4to, Paper 15 

Old Kensington. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 60 

THACKERAY’S (W. M.) Denis Duval. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 25 

Henry Esmond, and Level the Widower. 12 Ill’s 8vo, Paper 60 

Henry Esmond 8vo, Pa., 60 cents ; 4to, Paper 1 5 

Lovel the Widower 8vo, Paper 20 

Pendennis. 1^9 Illustrations 8vo, Paper 76 

The Adventures of Philip. 64 Illustrations 8vo, Paper 60 

. The Great Uoggarty Diamond 8vo, Paper 20 

The Newcomes. 162 Illustrations 8vo, Paper 90 

The Virginians. 150 Illustrations 8vo, Paper 90 

Vanity Fair. 32 Illustrations 8vo, Paper 80 

THACKERAY’S Works. Illustrated., 12mo, Cloth, per vol. 1 25 

Novels: Vanity F’air. — Pendennis. — The Newcomes. — The Virgin- 
ians. — Philip. — Esmond, and Lovel the Widower. 6 vols. Mis- 
cellaneous: Barry L)Tidon, Hoggarty Diamond, &c. — Paris and 
Irish Sketch-Books, &c. — Book of Snobs, Sketches, &c. — Four 
Georges, English Humorists, Roundabout Papers, &c. — Catharine, 
kc. 6 vols. 

TOWNSEND’S (G. A.) The Entailed Hat 16mo, Cloth 1 60 

TROLLOPE’S (Anthony) An Eye for an Eye 4to, Paper 10 

An Old Man’s Love 4to, Paper 15 

Ayala’s Angel 4to, Paper 20 

Cousin Henry 4to, Paper 10 

Doctor Thorne 12mo, Cloth 1 60 

Doctor Wortle’s School 4to, Paper 16 

Framley Parsonage 4to, Paper 15 

Harry Heathcote of Gangoil. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 20 

He Knew He was Right. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 80 

Is He Popen joy ? 4to, Paper 20 

John Caldigate 4to, Paper 15 

Kept in the Dark 4to, Paper 15 

Lady Anna 8vo, Paper 30 

Marion Fay. Illustrated 4to, Paper 20 

Mr. Scarborough’s Family 4to, Paper 20 

Phineas Redux. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 75 


12 


Harper d’ Brothers' Popular Novels. 


Ralph the Heir. Illustrated 

Sir Harry Hotspur of Humblethwaite. 


The Eustace Diamonds. Illust 

The Fixed Period 

The Golden Lion of Granpere. 

The Lady of Launay 

The Last Chronicle of Barset. 

The Prime Minister 

The Small House at Allington. 
The Vicar of Bullhampton. II 
The Warden, and Barchester T< 
The Way We Live Now. Illusi 
Thompson Hall. Illustrated.... 
Why Frau Frohman Raised her 
(Frances E.) Among Aliens. I 


The Sacristan’s Household. 


WAVERLEY NOVELS. 12mo. With 2000 Illustrations. 

Thistle Edition 48 Vols., Green Cloth, per vol. 1 

Complete Sets, Half Morocco, Gilt Tops 72 

Holyrood Edition 48 Vols., Brown Cloth, per vol. 

Complete Sets, Half Morocco, Gilt Tops 72 

Popular Edition 24 Vols., Green Cloth, per vol. 1 

Complete Sets, Half Morocco 54 

WAVERLEY NOVELS. 12mo. With 2000 Illustrations. 

Waverley; Guy Mannering; The Antiquary; Rob Roy; Old 
Mortality ; The Heart of Mid-Lothian ; A Legend of Montrose ; 
The Bride of Lammermoor ; The Black Dwarf ; Ivanhoe ; The 
Monastery ; The Abbot ; Kenilworth ; The Pirate ; The Fortunes 
of Nigel ; Peveril of the Peak ; Quentin Durward ; St. Ronan’s 
Well; Redgauntlet; The Betrothed ; The Talisman; Woodstock; 
Chronicles of the Canongate, The Highland Widow, &c. ; The 
Fair Maid of Perth ; Anne of Geierstein ; Count Robert of Paris ; 
Castle Dangerous ; The Surgeon’s Daughter ; Glossary. 

WOOLSON’S (C. F.) Anne. Illustrated by Reinhart 16mo, Cloth $1 

For the Major. Illustrated 16mo, Cloth 1 

YATES’S (Edmund) Black Sheep 8vo, Paper 

Dr. Wainwright’s Patient 8vo, Paper 

Kissing the Rod 8vo, Paper 

Land at Last 8vo, Paper 

Wrecked in Port 8vo, Paper 



Paper $ 

35 


Paper 

75 


Paper 

35 


Paper 

50 


Paper 

35 


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15 


Paper 

20 


Paper 

80 


Paper 

15 


Paper 

40 

32mo, 

Paper 

20 


Paper 

90 


Paper 

CO 


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75 


Paper 

80 


Paper 

60 


Paper 

90 

.32mo, 

Paper 

20 


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10 


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15 


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50 


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It surpasses all its predecessors . — N. Y. Tribune. 


STOEIONTH’S ENGLISH DICTIONAEY. 

A Dictionary of the English Language, Pronouncing, Etymological, 
and Explanatory, Embracing Scientific and Other Terms, Numer- 
ous Familiar Terms, and a Copious Selection of Old English 
Words. By the Rev. James Stokmontii. The Pronunciation 
Carefully Revised by the Rev. P. H. Piielp, M.A. pp. 1248. 
4to, Cloth, $6 00 ; Half Roan, $7 00 ; Sheep, $7 50. 

Also in Harper’s Franklin Square Library, in Twenty- 
three Parts. 4to, Paper, 25 cents each Part. oMuslin covers for 
binding supplied by the publishers on receipt of 50 cents. 

As regards thoroughness of etymological research and breadth of modern inclusion, 
Stormonth’s new dictionary surpasses all its predecessors. * ♦ in fact, Stormonth’s 

Dictionary possesses merits so many and conspicuous that it can hardly fail to estab- 
lish itself as a standard and a favorite. — A’- V. Tribune. 

This may servo in great measure the purposes of an English cyclopscdia. It gives 
lucid and succinct dctiiiitions of the technical terms in science and art, in law and 
medicine. We have the explanation of words and phrases that puzzle most people, 
showing wonderfully comprehensive and out ofthe-way research. We need only add 
that the Dictionary appears in all its deiiarlments to have been brought down to meet 
the latest demands of the day, and that it is admirably printed. — Times^ London. 

A most valuable addition to the library of the scholar and of the general reader. 
It can have for the present no possible rival. — Bost<m Post 

It has the bones and sinews of the grand dictionary of the future. * * * An invalu- 
able library book. — Ecclesiastical (razettc^ London. 

A work which is certainly without a rival, all things considered, among the dic- 
tionaries of our language. The peculiarity of the work is that it is equally well adapt- 
ed to the uses of the man of business, who demands compactness and ease of reference, 
and to those of the most exigent scholar. — A'. I' Commercial Adveriiser. 

As compared with our standard dictionaries, it is l>etter in type, riclier in its vocab- 
ulary, and happier in arrangement. Its system of grouping is admirable. * * * He 
who possesses this dictionary will enjoy and use it, and its bulk is not so great as to 
make use of it a terror. — Christian Advocate. X. V. 

A well planned and carefully executed work, which has decided merits of its own, 
and for which there is a place not filled by any of its rivals. — A’. Y. Xwn. 

A work of sterling value. It has received from all quarters the highest commenda- 
tion. — Lutheran Observer. Philadelphia. 

A trustworthy, truly scholarly dictionary of our English language.— C//mfian Intel- 
ligencer. X. Y. 

The issue of Slormonth’s great English dictionarj’^ is meeting with a hearty wel- 
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A critical and accurate dictionary, the embodiment of good scholarship and the 
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unrivalled place in bringing forth tho result of modern iihilological criticism. — Bostofi 
Journal. , , ... . 

Full, complete, and accurate, including all the latest words, and giving all their 
derivatives and correlatives. The definitions are short, but plain, the method of mak- 
ing pronunciation v^ery simple, and tho arrangement such as to give tho best results 
in the smallest space . — Philadelpkia ln<iuirer. 


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